The Overwatch Chronicles
by Maverick10101
Summary: Post-apocalyptic alternate universe for Overwatch. A simple journey, beginning with Mercy and Reaper, will lead a small team of determined fighters to the last outposts of civilization across the world, where they will begin to uncover the truth of how the world ended... Featuring Mercy, Reaper, Genji, Tracer, Road-hog, Junkrat, McCree, Soldier 76, , Hanzo, Widowmaker, & more!
1. Chapter 1

Overwatch

Chapter 1

The sun boiled the sky above the far horizon. A layer of blue shimmered, mirage-like, in every direction. Golden sand melted beneath their feet. And in his arms she was dying.

He could not let her die. He _would_ not let her die.

And yet there was nothing he could do. There was no life – no _sane_ life – for a hundred miles. She would die here, blood leaking from cold corpse on the hot sand, like so many before. And in a few hours, perhaps a few days, he would die too. They were only human, after all. They were out of time.

'I love you,' he said, hoping she could hear. The hope was in vain. Her eyes were fluttering, and beneath the lids only the whites of her eyes could be seen. Her pupils, like her heart and soul, were rolling up toward the heavens, eagerly awaiting the last few minutes on Earth.

'You shouldn't have died like this,' he told her. 'I should never have let this happen. I know if you were here you would tell me I didn't let this happen, but we both know that's not true. If I had been better, if I had been smarter, I…' He blinked back tears. 'I _could_ have saved you.'

Her body began to convulse. The death throes took her by the shoulders, shaking her, a violent attempt at life that ultimately led to death. Her heart rate thundered, he could feel it through her blood-soaked shirt, but in a few moments it would stop completely. It was only a matter of…

A wave of dust and sand battered him and he slid back, abandoning his grip on the woman for just long enough to shield his eyes. When he looked up it was in complete shock. Standing before him, silhouetted by the blinding sun, were two tall figures wreathed in curling, coiling smoke. A masked figure he attributed as male, and a stunning blonde woman in combat gear. He did not understand how they had appeared there, but he did not care.

'Finish the job.' He said, bowing his head. 'I am ready to die with honour, as is my partner.'

The sun glared down at them in shame.

'Now is not your time.' A voice said.

At first he did not know where the voice had come from – it was deep, raspy, masculine, and a little sinister. He had not seen a mouth move, nor had he _heard_ the words in a physical sense. They had never passed his ears, and he could not be sure if they had been spoken aloud or not. It was as if they had been spoken directly into his mind, reverberating in the space within his skull, never bothering to pass through the air as all other noise must.

'Not my time to do what?' he asked. No answer was forthcoming.

When he looked up again the blonde woman was crouched over his partner, her hands gently probing the blood-soaked torso.

'How long?' She asked.

He shrugged. 'An hour?'

The woman nodded, pointing a stave-like weapon downwards, head first. It glowed in a brilliant golden light, and that light seemed to pass between the staff and the dying girl. It was soft, yet powerful, and it washed over. The blood was pushed away, the dying girl's breathing slowed, and the convulsions stopped. He held his breath, not daring to hope, not daring to pray, for almost a full minute, until…

The woman gasped air, as if she had been drowning rather than standing still in a desert devoid of water. And then she stepped back, the glow fading, her work done.

'The girl will live.' The woman said, taking another deep breath, and resting on the staff.

'Thank you,' he replied. And though he had not consumed a drop of water in almost three days he felt the moisture of tears reach his eyes. A smile split his normally grim features, and he allowed the tears to flow. 'Thank you.' He said again.

The blonde woman's name was Mercy. He found that out later, while they were sharing the last of the dry biscuits. He had wanted to offer her water, but there had been none to offer. Thankfully the masked stranger, who had not introduced himself, had a water pouch which he handed over. They all had a taste before passing it to the girl who should have been dead, but would now live, and was just awake enough to bring the pouch to her lips and drink.

'I'm Mike,' he said. 'This is Tracy.'

Mercy smiled warmly. 'I call my partner Reaper. If he has another name I am not aware of it.'

Reaper said nothing. Mike took the opportunity to examine them more closely. Mercy was wearing a white combat uniform, layered above a tight-fitting black leather outfit, and had her blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. A few loose strands escaped, giving her an appropriately bedraggled look. She was striking and formidable. One of heaven's warriors here on Earth.

Reaper was something else entirely. The mask that covered his face was more than just inexpressive, it was deathly, resembling a skull picked clean of flesh and muscle. It was almost impossible to see anything more of him. His black fatigues draped from the tip of his hood-covered head and down to the soles of his feet. A belt of ammunition with two large, formidable looking pistols were the only glint of silver in an otherwise grimly dark uniform. Though it may have been Mike's imagination, he was fairly sure he could still see smoke curling from the Reaper's shoulders.

'What brings you two out here?' Mercy asked.

'A search for life.' Mike replied. 'I was living with Tracy in her home, not far from here, when…' He gestured vaguely. 'All this happened.'

Mercy nodded. 'You were lucky to live so long.'

Though Mike wanted to tell her that _luck_ had nothing to do with it, he kept those thoughts to himself. He did not want to give anything away. These two strangers may still be enemies. Instead, he said, 'Yes, we were. And Tracy would be dead now if not for you.'

Mercy shrugged her shoulders, the pauldrons bounced. 'I would have done it for any living human.'

'Any _sane_ living human.' Mike corrected. Mercy agreed. 'Anyway, enough about us,' he continued, 'what about you two? What are you doing out here? More importantly, what are you doing out here _dressed like that_?'

'Where I come from this is the norm.' Mercy replied, smiling. 'I cannot speak for Reaper.'

'No one can.' Reaper responded. As before, his voice seemed to echo omnipresently in Mike's head, never leaving any physical source, never passing through his ears. It just _was_.

'Well, whatever the case, I'm grateful…' Mike began to thank the pair, but he was cut off by the sound of engines. The three of them immediately took to their feet, leaving Tracy on the ground, still half-asleep.

'They're back…' Mike hissed, furious at himself for not finding safer ground. 'We should not be here. I cannot ask the two of you to stay.'

Mercy gripped her staff in both hands, but Mike became suddenly aware of the pistol at her hip. She was a formidable figure.

'You do not need to.' She replied, teeth gritted.

That was all the time they had to prepare. Over the low mound of sand a dozen machines on treaded tyres shot toward them, guns blazing, tearing ribbons through the air. The sun reflected like daggers of light from their steel hides. Mike got to one knee and unsheathed the sword he carried with him. He wished he still had bullets for his gun. This would have to do.

It was Mercy who met the full force of the mechanic marauders. She lunged, staff outstretched, and a machine impaled itself against the weapon. She then swung it away, so that the clunky form collided with one of its fellows and both crumbled to the sand in a pile of gears and circuits. Lacking the time to raise her weapon with both hands she instead drew the pistol from her hip, raised it with straightened arm, and fired three times into the head of a third robot warrior. It skidded to a stop as its processing centre was blasted.

Reaper, standing behind Mercy, waited until the enemies were almost upon him before retaliating. He had armed himself with both pistols, and from what Mike could see they were something like shotguns, spraying shrapnel at a short distance. Right, left, right, left, he fired and fired again as the robots approached, and one after the other fell until the scrap metal carcasses of four monsters lay around him.

Mike stood in front of Tracy, prepared to defend her with his dying breath. Seven of the foes had already been felled, but five had slipped through, and were even now bearing down on him. He stabbed the sword into the ground and pulled his stolen shuriken stars from the pouch on his waist. He threw one set, then the other, and two robots crashed to a halt before reaching him. The final three gunned their engines and spread out to attack from three angles.

He retried the blade from the sand and dashed forward, cutting down the first of his enemies in a lightning blow. The second approached from his left. He ducked, allowing a trail of bullets to pass overhead, and then spun in a broad circle, cutting the metallic monster into two. He turned, but he was too late. The third – and final – had already reached Tracy and was leaning over her, automatic machine guns trained downwards…

Tracy rolled to one side, raised the twin pistols she always carried with her, and fired both. The robot standing above her was shot to pieces, sparks flying, and it threatened to fall on top of her…

Tracy dodged it.

Mike was not sure how, because he had not seen her move, but she must have rolled aside. At any rate when the robot crashed to the sand she was not beneath it, and that was all that mattered. He rushed to her side.

'Tracy!' he exclaimed, 'I'm so damned glad you're alive!'

She smiled weakly, eyes still fluttering, though perhaps this time from the sun that hung in the air above. 'So am I,' she admitted, 'even though I have no fucking idea why I am.'

'For that,' Mike said, 'you can ask our new friends.'

'I would prefer you didn't,' Mercy said. 'At least, not right now. There are more robots incoming. More dangerous ones, that will not be taken down so easily. We should keep moving. Do you know anywhere safe nearby?'

Mike looked around. He could see them, not so far away, approaching over the sandy ridges. Dark shapes moving fast on a bright horizon.

'I do,' he replied hesitantly, 'but we'll need your help to get there. It's heavily guarded, an ex-government facility, and they say that trapped inside is the soul of humanity's last warrior.'

Mercy exchanged a glance with Reaper. It looked as if she knew something, or suspected something, but if she did she did not make it known. After a moment of silence, in which Mike wondered if Reaper's echoing voice had visited Mercy's inner-mind, she turned back to Mike, who was now holding Tracy in his arms in a way that suggested he had never expected to hold her again.

'Very well,' Mercy said, 'lead the way.'


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

The four of them travelled swiftly, aware that their enemies – and their deaths – were never far behind.

Mercy led. She insisted that, since she was the most adept healer, and their enemies were behind them, she should travel in front. Her staff in her right hand, pistol in the left, she seemed to glide across the desert, the vibrantly hot sand sending heat waves through the air around her. Behind her was Tracy, supported by Mike, still stumbling and weak. Bringing up the lead was Reaper, his bone mask emotionlessly facing the defeat, the heat, the barren dead earth.

And in the distance: engines.

'Your sword,' Reaper's voice broke into Mike's thoughts. 'What is it?'

Mike fought the urge to correct him. It was a _katana_ , a Japanese blade of ferocious, bloodthirsty design. But more than that it was as far from any sword you would ever see as it was not made from any conventional material. Some legends said it was soul-steel, others made from the molten metal of a star. Whatever legend you chose to believe, it cut through man and machine with equal ease, like sharpened scissors slicing paper. And it was stolen, as were the shuriken stars he carried, which he had retrieved from the mechanical carcasses after the previous battle.

'It is unique.' Mike answered, choosing not to be any more specific than that.

Reaper said nothing more. Perhaps he sensed the defensiveness. Perhaps he just didn't care.

'Structure up ahead!' Mercy called. Mike looked into the distance and saw it; a gas station, complete with neon lights. At least he assumed they were neon. They were not flashing now, and he guessed they had not been in several years. Not since the fallout, at least. He wondered vaguely why Mercy had not just called the structure a gas station. Had she already forgotten what it was?

Reaper came up alongside, and took half of Tracy's weight under his own shoulder. They picked up the pace. Neither man said anything, though Mike was grateful for the assistance. These two altruistic strangers had already been more helpful than he could have hoped for – more helpful than he deserved for what he had done.

'We don't have long.' Tracy whispered. She was still weak, struggling to regain full strength at this uncomfortable speed. But she was right. They could all hear the engines not far behind. It was only a matter of minutes before the machines caught them.

Still, Mike did not want to address their problems. Instead he kept his voice calm, smooth, steady.

'Relax, Tracy. Just focus on your breathing.'

No more than three hours ago her stomach had been cut open by a jagged-edged machine racing past. She should not be alive – in fact neither of them should be. If not for Mercy, the mysterious healer, and her grim friend Reaper, they would both be dead…

Mercy halted so swiftly that the other three almost ran into her.

'What's wrong?' Reaper asked, his voice echoing in the back of Mike's mind.

'Look,' Mercy gestured.

Mike was impatient to be moving ahead. The desert seemed to be closing in around them. The gas station – the first structure he had stumbled across in the last week – was a beacon of hope. In any other direction signalled. And behind them, aching to catch up, was a quick and painful death on treaded wheels. If he strained hard enough he fancied he could almost count the engines. A dozen? Two? He would have guessed at least fifteen motorised marauders.

'What am I looking at?' Mike asked.

No sooner had he spoken did he see the problem. Standing on the roof of the gas station, weapons in each hands and with an enormous, bulging stomach, was a fat man with a gas mask and nasty eyes. The man laughed, his bulk shaking, his voice somehow booming across the desert to them.

'Welcome to Route 66!' The fat man roared. 'Come on over!'

It was Mercy's idea to hang back. Later, when Mike was able to look back on the day with the benefit of hindsight, he would see just how right she had been. But at the time he was impatient.

'We are being followed, and we have an injured!' Mike called. He glanced behind him. A storm of dust was rising in the near distance. They had minutes at best. 'Will you allow us to get closer?'

The fat man pulled off his gas-mask and grinned. There seemed to be a series of straps around his arms and stomach, holding an apparatus to his back. Mike could not clearly make out the weapons he was carrying, but they seemed to be a small, stocky gun and a hook.

'Why should I?' The big man asked.

'Because the force that follows us is probably big enough to destroy you too.' Mercy answered.

The fat man glanced at Mercy as if for the first time. He looked her up and down, appraising her skin-tight defence-wear and her shapely figure. His eyes flashed hungrily.

'I ain't worried about these fucking robots. I'm hiding on a rooftop. So, like I said,' the big man winked, 'what do I get out of it?'

Mercy turned in disgust. Reaper looked at her. Or at least it seemed as though he did. The expressionless mask with the dark eyes was hard to read. In any case Reaper was _facing_ Mercy.

'We cannot rely on that beast.' Mercy said.

'I agree.'

'But we cannot abandon these two either.'

Reaper turned to Mike and Tracy. He seemed unimpressed, though it was hard to tell what he was thinking in any scenario. Still, he agreed with Mercy.

'Not if we can help it.'

Mercy nodded. 'Then we fight.'

She slapped a button on her grimy, white breast plate, and the strangest thing happened: two large wings spread from her back. They were angelic looking wings, draped by long white feathers, but they looked sharp and fierce. These may be wings, but they were built for offence as much as they were for flying. He wondered if Mercy _could_ fly. He wondered if they were a genetic alteration, organised by the government, or a cleverly designed mechanical suit. He did not have time to think about the answer.

Reaper drew his two handguns once more, reloaded both. They stood side to side as the robots rolled over the nearest hill, a cloud of dust sweeping along behind them.

'Here,' Reaper said, 'is as good a place as any.'

Mercy turned to Mike. 'Take Tracy. Not to the gas station – I do not trust that fat man. Head for the cliffs over there.'

As she pointed Mike could see exactly what she meant. Set into the cliff face was a sloping ramp; he could not tell if it was man-made or a natural feature, but it was easy enough to climb. He took as much of Tracy's weight over his shoulder as he could and began limping forward. He felt bad leaving Mercy and Reaper behind, but they seemed like perfectly capable warriors. Then again, anyone who had lasted this long in the apocalyptic world was.

Mike stumbled up the ramp, looking over his shoulder. The robots closed in on Reaper and Mercy, and the partners flared into action. It was stunning to watch. Mercy moved in amongst the enemies, her wings darting up and down like extra limbs, cutting the robots down and flinging them away as they got close. Bullets shot through the air around her, but she dodged them somehow, always staying low and twisting out of the paths of her foes. She wielded the staff with both hands now, jabbing it left and right, impaling the machines where possible, and simply knocking them off course when not.

One of the machines tried to grab at her with spindly arms, but she wrestled it away. When it came in for a second charge she covered her body with both wings and flung them out, knocking the robot into the air as if it weighed less than a child. It hung in the apex of its flight for just a moment…

Reaper was underneath it, his guns barking in the echoing desert. A single upward shot blasted the machine to smithereens, and then he was turning to face the next robot. They created a semi-circle, enclosing the pair from all angles, but Reaper and Mercy their way around in a back-to-back formation, never allowing the enemies to get the better of them.

At one point when there were only a few enemies left Mercy leapt into the air, her wings flapping around her. She threw her staff down like a spear, and it split the head of the nearest machine, slamming into the ground. Then, still hovering, she drew her pistol and fired six quick shots. The few remaining robots each took critical blows to their heads and came to a shuddering halt.

Reaper, full of vengeance, raised his gun and fired a final blast that knocked two of the robots down. Then he tossed the empty gun away and drew another. Mike chuckled.

Mike's chuckle died on his lips. He had been too distracted – he had not been paying attention. He had not noticed the robot that was rushing towards him. He tried to lower Tracy, but he could not do it quickly enough without dumping her, and he was afraid of hurting her further. He fumbled for the stolen shuriken stars at his hip, and when he could not unclasp the pocket he tried to draw his katana. It, too, seemed stuck in its sheath.

'Fuck!' He swore, watching as the machine closed the distance between them…

A hook flew through the air. It stabbed into the side of the robot, caught it tight, and hung there for an instant of a second. In that instant Mike stared at the robot, almost imagining he could see the confusion in its dead, electronic eyes. And then, with unexpected suddenness, the robot was whisked away.

Mike followed its path. The hook, which was attached to a long chain, seemed to be attached to a winch on the fat man's back. He was not sure how the mechanics worked – though he was anxious to have a closer look – but he could see that the machine was drawing the robot into arm's length of the fat man.

When it was close enough the portly defender of the gas station released the hook from the side of the machine with his left hand, raised his right hand (which held the bulky shotgun), and pulled the trigger. The blast echoed against the cliff faces, shaking the quiet canyon, as pieces of steel and circuitry were blown apart and strewn across the dusty highway.

The king of the gas station looked around with smug satisfaction, first at Mike and Tracy, then at Mercy and Reaper.

'Call me Road Hog,' he snorted, voice rumbly and deep. 'Welcome to my highway. And tell me, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?'

Mercy was the one who stepped forward. She lowered her staff, and holstered her pistol. When she spoke it was with an uncompromising tone. 'We need water,' she said, 'and we need to pass through to the facility on the other side of this canyon. We will achieve both goals whether you wish to allow us or not.'

The obese man who called himself Road Hog grinned yet again.

'Well, ain't that nice.'


	3. Chapter 3

The Road Hog was an enormous figure. His stomach bulged like a sack of Santa's presents, and his face was an ugly, contorted thing, on the rare occasions it was not covered in his gas mask. Each shoulder was covered in heavy looking plates of armour, as if scavenged, and his legs and feet were the same. Mike imagined that a fist-fight against a man of that size would be almost impossible.

And then there was the hook. In the hours after their brief fight at the gas station Mike had the chance to examine it more closely. His estimations had been correct; the hook was connected to a chain, connected to a powerful winch, hitched to the Road Hog's back. It allowed him to fire the hook at great speeds, latch onto an enemy, and pull them in close to finish them off.

Wrapped around the Road Hog's broad stomach was a tattoo that looked loosely like an engine; exhaust pipes and flames bordering an insanely smiling pig's snout; it was not the image that Mike intended to look at before his death. He felt a brief smack of pity for the foes that had.

Night was falling now. After explaining their desire to reach the government facility Mike knew about the Road Hog had allowed them to stay at the gas station overnight. It was an uneasy truce, but a truce nonetheless. There was water to go around, and the Road Hog even offered them some of his unperishable foodstuffs. Apart from the odd crass comment from the Hog himself, hardly anyone spoke.

That was until almost midnight, when Mike was watching over Tracy, and the Hog's booming voice interrupted the thoughts of all those around him.

'Who's keeping watch?' the big man asked.

'How about you keep watch for the gas station,' Mercy suggested, voice harsh, 'and we'll keep watch for you.'

The Hog snorted. 'Still don't trust me?'

'Not even a little.' Mike chimed in. Though, to be honest, he did not trust Mercy or Reaper either. Both of them seemed too relaxed, too confident, to be part of the same apocalypse he was.

'Fine.' The Hog said. 'I'll watch. Go sleep. Ya fuckers.'

Mercy quietly announced that she would keep watch as well. Mike settled himself to sleep, unable to fight the uneasy feeling in his bones, as Reaper stepped outside the doors of the gas station and disappeared.

It was midnight when Mercy woke Mike. The gas station doors were barred with wood, and a few sparse candles lit the darkness. Tracy was still sleeping soundly. He regretted not spending more time with her since her miraculous return to life, but resolved to devote himself to her once the immediate danger was passed.

For now, there was still plenty of trouble to keep him on edge.

'Anything?' He asked.

'Nothing.' Mercy yawned. 'It's a quiet night. Not a sign of robots, or… worse. But I think you should keep watch all the same. I need to sleep.'

'I agree.' Mike replied. He did not bother asking where Reaper was. He doubted Mercy would know.

The angelic figure settled into a corner, leaned her head against the wall, and almost immediately fell into the land of nod. Her breathing was soft, and calm. He could not help but notice the rhythmic rising and falling of her breasts beneath her armour, or the poised, beautiful expression on her suddenly relaxed face. Mercy was more attractive in sleep than she had been when awake; if that were possible.

He was committed to Tracy, of course, but there were few enough living people around these days that he could not help but notice an attractive woman when he saw one. In fact, he guessed that Reaper, Mercy, and Road Hog, were the first three living figures he had seen in over a month – besides Tracy.

He looked around the inside of the gas station – a hollowed out shell of a building with almost nothing to see – and found Road Hog in the next room, hunched over a blazing fire. The heat in the room was palpable, as was the tension. Road Hog, who had removed his gas mask, looked miserable.

'Why do you wear that?' Mike asked, gesturing to the head piece.

Road Hog looked across, and shrugged. 'Ain't this an apocalyptic wasteland?' he asked.

'Well, yes, but it's common knowledge that anyone who survived the first blast is immune for life.' Mike answered. Which, as far as he knew, was the truth. Only those with the strongest genes had survived the blast. They would not succumb to radiation weeks, months, or years later. It didn't make sense.

And besides, gas masks would not protect from radiation.

'Well, it makes me feel better.'

Mike smiled at that. 'Well, anything to make you feel better.'

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The fire crackled for them, a form of entertainment that Mike was grateful for, though only a few months ago he had enjoyed TVs with all manner of shows. He glanced over at the Road Hog once or twice, wondering what to say, if he should say anything.

'Gimme a hand?'

Mike looked up. 'Sorry?'

'A hand.' Road Hog gestured to the straps around his broad chest. 'To unlatch these.'

Mike stepped closer, and began unclasping the belts and clips that held the apparatus to Road Hog. He could immediately see why the big man needed help. It would be impossible to do alone.

'How do you normally do this?'

'Got a friend.' Road Hog grunted. 'He's usually back by now.'

Mike looked out into the night. When the moon rose, he knew, the world became even more unforgiving than it was during the day. Robots had sensors that allowed them to hunt more efficiently at night. And the hungry undead, or whatever they were, seemed to gain confidence as their prey lost vision.

'Is he okay?' Mike asked.

As soon as he said the words he knew they were insensitive, unhelpful, unkind. The Road Hog cringed, as if slapped, then rallied himself and maintained a tough façade.

'He'll be fine. He's been out after dark before. They might have him cornered, but… he'll get out okay.'

Road Hog didn't sound convinced. Mike decided not to question it. They took off the mechanics strapped to Road Hog's back and placed them aside. The big man looked smaller without it. Not much smaller, but… slightly more fragile. Less bulletproof. It was hard to put into words.

'He'll be fine.' Mike repeated.

Road Hog said nothing. He said nothing for the rest of the night. The hours of darkness passed slowly and swiftly, both at once.

The sun was almost rising when the undead finally made their move. Undead, perhaps, was the wrong term, but Mike didn't know what to call them so it would suit for now. They were humans, yes, but they had long since sacrificed their humanity. They were hungry, thirsty, desperate, and they were pulling at the wooden doors with clawing fingers and gnashing teeth.

Mike was there first. He flicked a shuriken star and caught one of the undead across the neck. It gargled blood, floundered at the window it had been attempting to crawl into, and then fell back, leaving space for a dozen more of the creatures to clamber through. They held each other up as they pressed into the small space. Mike was ready.

He lashed with the katana. First left, then right, cutting down the undefended beings as they scrambled toward him. He took four down before he called for help, realising that the others were not yet awake. He would need help if they were going to see the sunrise.

Road Hog was there in an instant, covering the main door. The huge man jammed his finger on the trigger of his shotgun and dual blasts shot out, massacring three of the enemies at a time. Another blast, then another, and five more people fell.

It was Mercy who came to their rescue. She swooped in, wings spread, and flew straight through the far window, taking four of the enemies with her. They tumbled to the road outside, clawing at her wings, and she cut them down, decapitating two with the staff, a third with her boot, and shooting the final foe in the head with her pistol.

The sun was rising over the horizon, slipping through the gaps between the cliffs. Mike looked out. There were more enemies closing in, rushing up the road like a wave, threatening to break against the building and pull it under. They had little defence. They could not allow this battle to go on. Mike, ever wary of Tracy – who was still injured – called out to Road Hog.

'I have an idea!' He shouted. 'But we need your hook!'

The Road Hog nodded his assent. 'Then help me get it fucking on!'

Mike slashed with his blade and took the head from the nearest enemy, then kicked at the one behind it, knocking it down. More enemies rushed, but Mike had bought himself a few moments. He hurried to Road Hog, lifted the heavy winch, and began strapping it to the round man's back. He was grateful that he had had some experience with it during the night, or else it would have been a much longer process.

After a few painstakingly long moments he managed to clasp the final buckle, and the Road Hog charged into battle, his scraps of armour covering almost every exposed inch of flesh, albeit his stomach. He slammed fists left and guns right, breaking down the weakened scavengers, not bothering to shoot or fire his harpoon.

'This way,' Mike shouted, pointing toward the road. 'Follow me!'

Mercy was already there, blonde hair flying in the wind as she was slowly but surely surrounded.

'Where do you want me?' She asked, desperate to be a part of the plan. Mike didn't spare a moment.

'Go and keep watch over Tracy,' he ordered, 'the Road Hog and I can end this.'

Mercy flew back into the room, staff glowing with holy light, as Mike and the Road Hog waded into the rising tide of enemies, slashing and beating them down on all sides. They could only maintain their position for a few more moments.

'What's the plan here, short stuff?' Road Hog asked, deep voice muffled by the pointless gas mask.

'The sign,' Mike pointed.

Beside the gas station stood a tall billboard advertising _the deadliest gorge_. Mike wasn't interested in it – he had hardly spared the gas station a second glance since they got there – but he knew they could use it to their advantage, if they were quick.

'I'll distract them.' Mike said. 'You pull it down.'

He did not stay around to see if the Road Hog understood. Instead he ran towards the sign, feeling the first rays of dawn sun creep toward him, and tried to draw the enemies toward him with the light that glinted from his blade.

It worked, to some extent. Thought the Road Hog still had to beat down three scrambling, ravenous zombie-people, he was essentially left alone. Mike, on the other hand, had more than a dozen rushing after him. It was all he could do with the sword to keep them at bay.

'Now!' Mike shouted.

The Road Hog raised his harpoon and fired. The hook jabbed into the top of the billboard and strained against its supports. This would never have worked two months ago, Mike thought, but they stood a good chance. The billboard had not been maintained since the apocalypse, and the steel was rusty. He slashed and blocked his enemies as the billboard creaked, and gradually toppled forwards. The Road Hog, pulling with all his might while shooting at his enemies with the other hand, watched with satisfaction as the billboard crashed down.

It flattened eleven of the wilderness-humans, leaving Mike – who had dodged out of the way just in time – alive and well. It had been a reckless plan, but it had worked.

'Well done.' Mike called, panting for breath, but grinning all the same. The Road Hog beamed beneath his gas mask, and seemed about to say something, when suddenly Mike's expression fell.

'Behind you!' Mike screamed.

Road Hog turned in time to see another dozen of the mindless humans rushing him, arms outstretched, dusty clothes falling away from them ineffectually. There was no time, no opportunity, to fight back. Mike wanted to help, but he was too far, and there was still no sign of the Reaper, who had disappeared overnight. Mike could only watch…

Road Hog leapt into the fray of enemies, knocking the first two down with him as the following score clambered forward. And just then Mike heard the rip of an engine.

' _Fuck_ ', he swore to himself. The last thing they needed now was robots.

He followed the sound and saw, at the top of a cliff face, a scrawny looking man with a tyre in hands. The ragged man pulled at the ripcord a second time, and the tyre started spinning, as if on an independent motor. While he held it down with some difficulty, the ragged man lit a fuse and then, finally, released the spinning wheel.

It flung forward, treads digging into the hardened desert floor, and flew across the open air from the top of the cliff, spinning all the way. It landed only two meters away from the Road Hog; although, really, _landed_ was not the word.

The tyre _exploded_ two meters away from the Road Hog, sending tongues of flame licking in all directions, consuming the eight or nine zombie-people it impacted against. The people fell, writhing and screaming beneath the fire, as the Road Hog stepped back. The final scavenger rushed Road Hog, and had its throat torn out by the hook for its trouble.

'Who the hell is that?' Mike asked, looking up at the top of the cliff. The wiry man looked exhausted, covered in grime, and eccentric, with jagged hair that reached like lightning for the heavens. But he was grinning down at the Road Hog like they were old friends.

'That's Junkrat.' The Road Hog took off his gasmask and grinned, an expression of relief written all over his features. 'That's my partner.'


	4. Chapter 4

The Ute was old. A layer of copper-coloured rust covered its exterior like patchy moss, and the wheels – treaded as they were with spikes – looked like dangerous antiques. But when Junkrat turned the key the engine hummed and sputtered to life, and that was good enough for Tracy.

She did not know who Junkrat was. Nor did she know who Road Hog, Mercy, or Reaper were, not really, though their faces were becoming familiar. But a vehicle was hard to find these days, and she would take what she would get. More to the point it was difficult to find any kind of engine that wasn't trying to kill you.

Gingerly, she touched the scar on her stomach where she had been sliced open only twenty four hours ago. Mercy, the woman in white fatigues, had healed her. She did not understand how. She was grateful, of course, but more than just a little wary.

'So, here's the plan.' Mike said. Tracy looked over to him. He looked so young, stand amidst Reaper and Mercy, and even Road Hog. Not that Tracy had any idea how long Reaper really was. He seemed almost ageless.

As Mike explained that they would use the Ute like a pack horse, carting their few water and food provisions as scavenged from the gas station, he outlined their defence plan. They would be entering the canyon proper from here on, which would no doubt be crawling with machines and zombies just waiting to fall upon them. Or worse, bandits, hoping to kill and steal their way to a new land.

There were no new lands, of course. This was it. This was the world now.

Junkrat sat beside Tracy, and she took the opportunity to look at him closely. Her first instinct had been right. He was scrawny, the polar opposite of his partner Road Hog, and covered in soot and grime. He looked like a car mechanic, the kind that saw the underside of more cars than he would ever drive. Blonde hair, singed by fire, and a touch of madness in his eyes rounded out the image. Draped over each shoulder was a pack of tools and what looked like explosives, while strapped to his back was a grenade launcher.

The stump of his right leg ended just below the knee, and tapered off into a pirate-like peg-leg. Tracy wondered if Junkrat's maniacal grin was in spite of his injury, or because of it.

'So you're the girl, huh,' he asked, looking her up and down in a way that made her quite uncomfortable.

'Tracy.' She answered. She considered holding out a hand to shake, but decided against it.

'Where we goin', eh, Tracy? I hear from Hoggy that it's your plan an' that of Mikey what's leading us through the canyon. Dangerous path through the canyon, ya know. _Very_ dangerous.'

Tracy didn't have the strength to argue their case, so she kept her response simple.

'A few days ago Mike and I passed a government facility. Well, that's what we think it was. Set into the mountains not far from here, almost impossible to reach. Well, completely impossible with only two people. But we might manage it with six.'

'Why so impossible, eh?'

'It's swarming with robots and those hungry undead things. Those mindless monsters.'

Junkrat nodded. 'Seems to me to be a stupid idea goin' up that way on account of all the danger.'

'You don't have to come.' She responded. No one had invited them, in fact, but after Junkrat's triumphant return he and Road Hog had decided, quickly and unanimously, that they would help approach the facility. Tracy still wondered if it was because they were frightened, lonely, or secretly planning to betray the group in hopes of keeping the women for themselves.

That thought frustrated Tracy, rather than scaring her. She knew that she could handle herself. So could Mercy.

'Well, like you said yourself,' Junkrat replied, grinning with missing teeth, 'you might just manage your task with the six of us intrepid heroes. But not so likely with only two thirds of the number.'

Tracy conceded the point. 'Then thank you for your assistance. And the Ute.'

Junkrat looked over to where the car was shuddering. He'd explained earlier that it was a passion project. There was plenty of fuel in the gas station, but he'd had to learn a lot about cars in a short space of time to keep it running. He had, apparently, tried to keep two cars alive in the beginning. But he'd accidentally let one of the batteries die. That had been before he met Road Hog.

Weeks ago? Months? No one was quite sure anymore.

'Don't thank me yet.' Junkrat cackled as he stood. 'It might not make it!'

…

Tracy drove. It was more or less all she could do, as walking any great distance tired her out. She was still recovering, after all. Standing on the back of the Ute was Junkrat, with his grenade launcher in hand. Walking on either side were the other four, all looking formidable with their weapons, all watching the sides of the canyons.

The deeper they strode into the canyon, the more cramped it felt, as if it were smothering them in an ever-tightening hug. Soon they would struggle to breathe.

The only direction in which there seemed ample room was up. The blue sky fell upon them like waves, unblemished by a single cloud, and in the centre hung the burning eye, yellow and furious, baking the earth. Tracy ached to be out of this desert. She needed clean clothes, a bath, a hot cooked meal. Water, soft drink, a beer…

Mike opened the passenger door and stepped in. It wasn't hard, the Ute was only travelling at a few kilometres an hour. Junkrat doubted it would handle anything more.

'What's up?' Tracy asked, winding up the windows so that they could not be heard.

'Just checking on you.' He replied, smiling warmly.

She looked into his hazel eyes, examined every inch of his tanned skin. He was so handsome. He was _hers_.

'I'm fine. At least, I will be. Whatever Mercy did to me…'

'That's what I'm talking about.' Mike said, eyes darting back. 'We don't know what she did. We don't know anything about her, or Reaper. And we know even less about those other two.'

Junkrat, standing on the tray, fired a grenade up at the canyon wall. A machine was blasted into small pieces. Junkrat laughed and laughed.

'You think they're using us.' Tracy summarised.

'Yes.'

'So?'

Mike paused. 'Well, we need to be careful.'

'Of course we do. We've been careful for the last six months, we're not going to stop now. But I don't care if they're using us at the moment. Because, to be honest, we're using them too. The whole world can use each other all day and all night if they have a common goal, it's not going to keep me up at night.'

Mike's mouth fell open, just a little, as her words rattled in his mind. Then he grinned. 'Good point.'

'Besides, you're the one who told them about the government facility.' Tracy pointed accusingly. 'We're practically leading them all into certain death.'

'No I'm not. With any luck we'll all get out of there alive.'

'But you haven't told them what is defending the place.'

This time Mike turned away, watched the road rolling under them. The right hand side of the Ute lifted and slammed back down as they passed over the rotten, rusty remains of a robot.

'No,' he said quietly, 'I haven't.'

A trail of bullets pounded into the front of the Ute, causing the vehicle to shudder and squeak. Tracy watched as smoking black holes appeared all over the bonnet, and ducked just as a dozen rounds spat through the windshield, shattering it.

'Mike!' She screamed. He had already dived out the passenger door, and was taking cover behind the car. Tracy covered her face with her hands, realising her reactions had been too slow, when suddenly her body tingled and she moved.

She did not move her legs, or her arms. It was her entire body that moved, as if in place. She was outside of the car now. Without a chair beneath her she collapsed into an awkward sitting position, and lowered her hands to look around. The bullets, she could see, had slammed into the driver's seat where she had just seconds ago been sitting. The door was still closed.

She looked around, wondering if anyone else had noticed her strange apparition. Standing above her, silent as the grave, was Reaper. His mask faced her but she could see nothing of his eyes in the dark holes of his skull mask. They held the look a moment longer, then he turned to face the upcoming bend in the canyon.

'They're just ahead.' The Road Hog grunted. 'If we turn this corner they'll mow us down. A turret of some kind. Fuck!'

Mike rushed to Tracy's side, held her in his arms yet again, grateful she had dodged the bullets.

'I hear engines behind us.' Mercy added. 'If we stay here much longer we will be surrounded.'

'My fuckin' luck.' Junkrat scowled. 'Twice in one day I get fuckin' trapped by these damned…'

'It's got nothing to do with luck.' Mike stood, and drew his katana. 'This is an ambush.'

Road Hog bellowed something about abandoning the car and leaving on foot. Junkrat set about laying mines and bear traps across the path behind them, hoping it would buy some time. But Mercy and Reaper seemed focused only on the path ahead. Retreating was no option, which in a canyon of only two directions meant they had to advance; even if the road ahead _was_ guarded by a heavy turret.

'You might need to clear the path for us.' Mercy said.

Reaper nodded, and holstered his weapons into the belt across his waist. Then he drew his coat in around him.

'Like the fuckin' punisher, ain't he?' Junkrat asked, panting for breath as he lay his last mine and approached Tracy.

'The what?'

'The Punisher. Never read a comic before the Fallout? Guy with the skull on his chest, sober fella, dark 'n' moody type.'

Tracy shook her head. She had no idea what Junkrat was saying, and wanted to concentrate on what Mercy and Reaper were talking about. Whatever it was, it seemed they had reached a decision.

'Reaper and I will clear the path ahead,' Mercy said. 'The rest of you should defend our behinds.'

'Lady, I will happily defend your behind.' Junkrat sneered gleefully.

Road Hog chuckled, but everyone else ignored the comment, and followed Mercy's directions. Everyone except Tracy, who had no desire to get back in the car. She was driven by a compulsion to see exactly what the Reaper was going to do. She followed him toward the bend in the canyon, by the car, where he still had not drawn his weapons.

He turned and looked at her, but said nothing. Tracy wondered if he would wait until she was back in her position before launching into action.

Whether that was the plan or not, she never found out. The sound of bullet-fire from behind them distracted both, and Tracy spun around.

One of the bear traps had sprung up, latching around the tyre treads of a robot. But this was not one of the normal junkyard robots armed haphazardly with guns. This was a machine built to destroy, over eight-feet tall and sporting two arm-like limbs of steel and weaponry.

Road Hog was firing at the mechanical monstrosity, his shotgun spray denting and damaging the main body of the machine. Beside him Junkrat had already shot two grenades into the air, which landed on top of the robot and removed its head. The robot did not fall. The canon on its right 'arm' fired, and a deadly projectile slammed into the back of the Ute, causing the vehicle to shunt forward. The back fender fell away.

'Kill that thing!' Mike shouted, looking helpless with the sword in his hand.

Tracy did not stop to see what happened. She turned back to Reaper, who was now stepping around the forward corner, and the volley of bullets from the turret slammed into him…

Or, more accurately, passed _through_ him. Reaper was gliding across the sand covered road, his hands by his sides, as if he were no longer just a man. As if he were made of smoke, or shadows. The bullets did not slow him down. He did not seem to even notice them. The only sign that they had touched him at all was the wisps of smoke that followed the holes in his body, before they closed up to reform his black cloak.

Reaper was… a ghost?

Tracy leaned further around the corner to watch what happened next.

Reaper crossed his arms over his chest, nodded his head down, and… disappeared!

There was a flash of darkness, an eruption of smoke, up ahead. Tracy followed the movement and saw Reaper. He had appeared – teleported, maybe – up into a hole in the canyon wall. He was standing directly behind the turret, which still fired into the road at nothing in particular.

Reaper upholstered both pistols, aimed them down, and fired. The turret stopped spinning, the bullets stopped firing, and it collapsed on itself. Tracy walked further into the now safe roadway through the canyon, gaping up at Reaper.

'That was amazing!' She called.

She shouldn't have said anything. She hadn't noticed the two more turrets in similar platforms throughout the canyon, and until she spoke they had not noticed her either. But now they turned on her, spinning rapidly, and a volley of bullets arced in her direction…


	5. Chapter 5

One moment Tracy was sitting in the line of fire of the incoming bullets, the next she was standing back around the corner of the canyon, by the car, safe. A buzzing sensation thrilled her. Mercy was standing two feet away, and she seemed confused.

'Tracy?' The blonde healer asked. 'Were you just…?'

Tracy shook her head. 'I don't know. I think I just… blanked out for a second there.'

Mercy nodded slowly, as if to agree that she had done the same, but the look of concern in her eyes betrayed what she was really thinking. _How had Tracy just appeared out of thin air?_

Behind them both were Mike, Road Hog, and Junkrat. They had succeeded in bringing down the biggest robot, although it had done some damage to the car, and were now retreating toward the Ute.

'Go!' Mike called. 'Get out of here!'

Tracy clambered into the vehicle and pressed the pedal. The Ute lurched forward. A piece of metal plating fell from the back of the car as its aging chassis shuddered.

'Faster than that!' Mike exclaimed, overtaking the Ute, his katana drawn. 'Step on it, Tracy. The Ute might not last long, but we need to get as far away as…'

An explosion interrupted him. Tracy glanced into her review mirror as two robots were blown apart behind her. Junkrat had been laying mines. Their retreat was being covered – for now. It would not last long.

Mercy was looking ahead. She came back alongside the car.

'Reaper has cleared the way forward. Go, Tracy. We will cover you.'

Tracy did what she was told, and shifted the car into second gear. They were travelling faster now. In the narrow, twisting corridors of the canyon it felt like breakneck speed, though in reality it was a slow pace. She soon left her allies behind and drew up alongside Reaper, who had travelled some distance ahead.

'Are we safe?' She asked.

He said nothing, simply kept walking, skull-like mask fixed on any obstacles that might come their way. Tracy wondered if he knew something he was not mentioning. It seemed likely.

Mike and the others caught up a few minutes later, all out of breath and sweating.

'We can't keep doing this.' He said through the car window. 'We need to stop. A rest point, or something. Some place we can defend ourselves.'

Tracy doubted they would find any sort of rest point here, in the canyon in the middle of the desert. This unforgiving landscape had taken the lives of thousands, perhaps millions, in the last year. She did not want to be one of them, but she did not think they would find peace here.

It was Road Hog who answered Mike, in his rumbling boar-voice.

'There's a shanty village up ahead, if you take the left hand split of canyon. A few wooden shacks, a garage. We might even find tools, and some fresh water in the well.'

'How do you know about it?' Mercy asked, her eyes narrowing.

Road Hog glanced at Junkrat, who looked away. 'I just do, oright? Now come on. It'll give us a chance to defend ourselves.'

Mike frowned, and opened his mouth as if to question what the fat man was saying, but there was no time. The screaming and screeching of robots echoed behind them. They were running out of time.

'Come on,' Road Hog insisted, 'it's only another minute or two ahead. I know every inch of this fuckin' canyon, _trust me_.'

Tracy gunned the engine, which had been idling the last few minutes. Mike looked at her, and she shrugged.

'Let's go. We don't have all day.'

Road Hog grunted his thanks, and the convoy set off. Above them, soaring over the tops of the canyon, were more robots. Some of them stopped to aim, and fire down. Most of them lost their balance or their grip, despite their specially treaded wheels, and fell down to the bottom of the canyon like large, artificial boulders, shattering against the floor. Deadly, random hail. Junkrat was almost crushed, but Mike pulled him aside just in time.

'We're travelling too slowly.' Mike said through gritted teeth. We won't even get to this shanty town at this rate…'

Road Hog looked up at the canyon top and fired his hook. It latched onto a robot and yanked down, causing the machine to fall and break against the floor.

'These are just scouts.' Reaper's voice filled their minds. 'They are trying to slow us down.'

'Well, it's working.' Tracy replied, forcing the Ute to a halt as a robot fell to earth in front of her. Mike and Mercy pushed the remains of the machine out of her path.

Finally they came across the split in the canyon, just as Road Hog had predicted. Tracy turned left without questioning. They did not have time to discuss the decision again. The machines were closing in.

Another minute on the road and the town came into view. It somehow looked both old and new, as if it had been constructed only in the last few weeks, but out of second-hand materials. The wooden pillars and planked look dirty and roughly hewn, and most of the walls were made from either handmade bricks or sheets of tin and steel stolen from other buildings. A dirt path led between the buildings. There were six or seven, each with a quaint little deck, like a desert town of old.

Tracy wondered which of the buildings was the saloon; wondered if any of the buildings had ever been a stable for cowboys.

The group of six, protecting and driving the car respectively, rolled into the town. Tracy parked the car and climbed out, retrieving her twin semi-automatics from their holsters. They surrounded the Ute, using it as cover, a good place to make a stand.

'Here we go.' Road Hog growled. And like that, the enemy appeared.

The first of the machines was caught by Road Hog and pulled in, at which point he blasted it into pieces with his double-barrel. Mike, standing in front of the Ute, took out another enemy with a shuriken and then abandoned his throwing stars for the full use of the blade, cutting down enemies on the left and right. Mercy defended his flank with her staff, which was now glowing as she beat the simple machines back. Junkrat lobbed grenade after grenade into the fray. Tracy herself fired clip after clip of her twin weapons into the army. Her small calibre bullets did little damage on their own, but a few rapid shots at a time were more than enough to fell the mechanical marauders.

The tide was thinning. Slowly, gradually, it seemed they were winning.

And then it appeared: another of the giant the robots, the eight foot monsters with canons for hands. It fired a shot without warning, and hit the car. The vehicle spun on locked wheels, slamming into Junkrat and knocking the scrawny blonde man down. A second canon shot hit the ground just in front of Mercy, and she was knocked back.

Reaper appeared, his two guns blazing as he fired at enemies on the left, the right, the left… He was halted midstep by a semi-destroyed machine on the ground that fired up at Reaper. The bullet ripped through his leg. This time he was not in ghost-form, or whatever he had been in before when the attacks had not affected him. This time he fell to his knees, and a wave of pain flooded into Tracy's mind against her will.

It was Reaper's pain she was feeling, the muscles had been torn from his calf. His pain was in her head.

Mike twirled the blade faster, faster, faster, fighting his way to Reaper's side to protect their ally. But he was being overwhelmed. Another few moments and there would be nothing he could do.

'We need to take down that machine!' Tracy called out, aware that almost all of her new friends had been knocked down and were nowhere to be seen.

Road Hog, that pillar of indomitable bulk, stepped up to the challenge.

'I can do it.' He grunted. He fired his hook up at the giant robot's neck, and it latched on. But when Road Hog tried to pull it down toward him he found that he was not strong enough, or heavy enough, to outweigh the machine. Instead he simply held the chain like an anchor.

'It's too heavy!' He roared.

Tracy had noticed. She emptied her clips protecting Road Hog, and started to reload. 'Pull your hook in, try for a better shot.'

'It's stuck,' was the answer. Road Hog could not retrieve his hook. He used his other hand to fire the shotgun at the next robot to approach him, but now the gun was out of charges too. He slammed it down like a club, and decapitated yet another machine.

Tracy knew it was up to her now. She would have to do something drastic, something crazy, something…

She leapt onto Road Hog's chain. He almost buckled under her weight, but managed to keep it steady. She took two wobbly steps, then two more stable steps, and jumped from the chain onto the giant robot's head. From there she jammed her twin weapons into the monstrosity's central processing unit and pulled the triggers together.

The machine fizzed, sparks flew, and the head was blown apart. Then the main torso buckled, and the two canon-wielding arms drooped down. The robot slumped forward, throwing Tracy away, and collapsed onto two of the smaller robots, crushing them. Mike was granted a moment of respite, during which he pulled Reaper up. The limping warrior did his best to fire at the enemy, and they pushed them back.

Road Hog retrieved his hook.

'Nice thinking.' He grunted.

Tracy beamed, and started to thank him for his help, when through the dust of the fallen machine swarmed six more robots, each blasting toward them. The rapid bullet fire caused Tracy and Road Hog to fall back behind the Ute. Mike and Reaper were also forced to retreat. The four of them took defensive positions over the fallen figures of Mercy and Junkrat, hoping to protect them in a final stand, when they heard a voice from above call out.

'Get down!' It shouted.

Everyone got down. Tracy was the only one who took that bare instant of time to turn and look up. It was hard to see the figure at first, because the sun was at its peak behind the roof of the building. But she could see the figure's broad shoulders, and cowboy hat, and she could tell without a doubt that he was packing heat.

A stranger, yes, with a six shooter. Just enough bullets to kill her and her friends. She started to raise her own weapon, hoping against hope that she would not have to use it, but it was too late. They were at the stranger's mercy.

He would either save them or kill them all.


	6. Chapter 6

Six shots rang out. Tracy let go of the breath she'd been holding. Whoever the mysterious stranger was, taking cover on a rooftop beneath his broad-brimmed hat, he didn't seem to want them dead. At least, not yet. He had fired on the machines, and six of the robots had fallen.

Mike, katana in hand, cleaned up the last of the mess, and the group gathered around the car.

No one was hurt too badly. Reaper had been shot through the leg, and Mercy and Junkrat were knocked out, but within a few minutes everyone was stable and relaxed. Everyone except Junkrat, who was glaring with smoky eyes at the newcomer.

The newcomer was handsome in a rugged way. His dark face, hidden beneath the shadow of his hat, was covered in coarse hair. He had clearly not shaven in days, perhaps week, and his hair looked equally messy. He wore a red quilt, wrapped around his shoulders, perhaps to protect himself from the sun. His body armour, though simple, looked effective. Like many of the others in the group he wore a belt of ammunition slung low around his hip, from which dangled a holster.

The six-shooter was still in his hand. It had been reloaded. Tracy dragged her eyes away from it with difficulty.

'Who the hell are y'all?' He asked.

'Just travellers, passing through.' Mike answered, hands raised defensively, though Tracy noticed his katana was loose in its sheath.

'Heavily armed travellers.' The cowboy drawled. Tracy noticed the cigar poking out from between his lips for the first time.

'Aren't we all?' Mike asked.

'It's a necessity.' Mercy agreed.

The cowboy nodded slowly, lifting his hat to scratch his scalp with his left hand. Tracy wondered vaguely why he was wearing a glove on his left hand, but not his right.

'Well, y'all are right about that.' The cowboy nodded. 'Can I expect any shenanigans from y'all?'

'We're just passing through.' Mike repeated. And finally, with an acknowledging tip of the head, the cowboy gestured to the shanty town.

'Well in that case,' he said, 'make yourselves at home.'

They made their way up the dusty road, examining the simple wooden buildings as they passed. Tracy was impressed. They were more solid than she had originally thought; there was no way the cowboy could have built them on his own. She followed the jangling noise of his spurs.

'Do you have a name, sir?' She asked.

'He does.' It was Junkrat who spoke from the back of the pack, and there was a bitterness to his voice. 'It's _McCree_.'

McCree stopped and sighed heavily. 'I should've known letting you live was a mistake.'

'You two know each other?' Tracy asked.

Junkrat pushed past Mike and ignored Road Hog, when the fatter man tried to get in his path.

'Sure we know each other,' Junkrat snarled, 'this is the fucker that took my leg. My family, my friends, we built this entire village. That's how Road Hog done know about it. Took us _months_ , but it was home, ya know, a safe place to stay and build and live.'

'Junkers.' McCree spat onto the dirt. The sun sizzled the speck of moisture.

'Yeah, we're junkers, so fuckin' what?' Junkrat looked heated. 'It was a life, ya pistol-toting bastard, and you took it from us.'

'Desperate times.' McCree replied, his voice low and uncompromising. 'You'd have done the same to me.'

Junkrat hoisted the grenade launcher into the crook of his arm. 'I still might!'

McCree thumbed back the hammer on his six-shooter. Mercy gripped her staff. Tensions rose on all accounts as everyone prepared to fight if necessary.

Tracy stepped defensively in front of McCree. 'Look, Junkrat, he's saved our lives. It doesn't take back what he did, but it's a start. We can look to the future now. There's still a life for us, we just need to work together to keep it.'

McCree turned his back and walked away. 'I should've killed ya, Junkrat.'

'Aw, fuck off!' Junkrat called after him. But that was the end of the conversation. The group split ways, each claiming a shanty building, and found some rest. Road Hog took the first watch.

…

Tracy checked on Reaper first. He was lying on a pile of stolen blankets in one of the small huts. Mercy was standing over him, healing him with the glowing staff. If it was science it was nothing Tracy understood, but she wasn't quite ready to admit it was magic either.

'Should you be doing that?' Tracy asked.

Mercy looked up. 'Why wouldn't I? Reaper has been my companion for weeks now.'

'Half an hour ago you were unconscious.' Tracy countered. 'If you over-exert yourself…'

She watched as the muscles and skin of Reaper's leg stitched themselves back together under the basking golden light. Mercy took a deep, shuddering breath, and stepped away from her partner.

'I'll be fine. And besides, wounds like this are always easier to heal when they are fresh.'

They sat in silence for a minute after that. It was a silence they enveloped the room like a bubble, and, Tracy imagined, the rest of the shanty town. After Junkrat's terse exchange with McCree hardly anyone had known what to say. Half an hour later they still didn't.

'Where is Mike?' Mercy asked.

Tracy shrugged.

'Junkrat? Road Hog?'

More shrugs. Tracy didn't know where anyone was. They'd parted ways, each finding their own room to cool down in. If Road Hog was still keeping watch he should be on a roof somewhere. But Tracy didn't care enough to go and check. It was so damned hot outside.

'In that case,' Mercy began, 'why don't you go and find our host, this ranger McCree. He seems like a loner, but he knows this land better than we do. He's probably been here some time. We could use his help.'

Tracy wasn't thrilled about the idea. McCree was tough and handsome, and had had a strange way of allowing her to feel safe in the few moments she'd spent in his presence, in a way that Mike did not. But he was also dangerous, and a stranger.

'Please,' Mercy added. 'It would help put me at ease.'

'Fine,' Tracy answered. 'But only because you asked, and I like you.'

As Tracy left in the direction she had last seen McCree, she had to wonder if Mercy was sending her because she was young and pretty; a non-threatening peace offering. The idea grated her, so she kept her twin pistols loose in their holsters, ready to draw if necessary.

She found McCree smoking on a rooftop on the furthest building. His boots dangled over the veranda and, as she climbed the ladder beside him, she noticed his belt buckle for the first time. _BAMF_.

'Howdy.' He grunted as she took a place beside him.

From here the entire village seemed empty. There was no sign of Road Hog keeping watch, or any of the others for that matter, all of whom were probably hiding indoors. Tracy didn't blame them. Even after only two minutes of the sun her skin was prickling, and sweat was sliding down her brow. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

'I'm definitely getting my haircut, as soon as I can.' She said, and then wondered why she'd started with that.

McCree's mouth twitched into a smile. 'I can arrange that. There's a pair of scissors downstairs.'

Tracy smiled back, then blushed and looked away. His dark, beady eyes were so different from Mike's narrow, bright ones.

'Maybe later. First; thank you for saving us earlier. We may not have made it if you hadn't been there.'

He shrugged. 'Time was I'd've left y'all to die. But these days, well… my time's as limited as yours. No point us fighting over it.'

For the first time Tracy realised that McCree was here alone. Of everyone she'd seen since they entered the desert, and there had been precious few people at all, they had all been travelling in pairs, if not larger groups.

'How have you survived so long by yourself?' She asked, wondering if it was a rude question, but not really caring.

'I wasn't. There was a large group of us, back a month. Travelled together, watched each other's backs. We used to get into fights with the Junkers all'a time, until one day we got the better of them. Slaughtered 'em all, except for Junkrat. I can't remember why we let him go. Poor bastard was close enough to dead anyway, with his damned missing leg.'

'Where are they now?' Tracy asked.

'Abandoned me when we ran out of food. The well here is damned fine, but you can't get far without food.'

'Why abandon you?'

McCree pulled back the red quilt draped around his neck, and then removed the glove from his left hand. With the glove gone, the hand seemed to disappear. Tracy realised that from the elbow down McCree had no left hand. The glove was a prosthetic, simple and black. He passed it to her, and she looked closer. Not even a prosthetic; just plastic stolen from a store mannequin somewhere.

'I ain't much use without a hand.' He answered. 'I can fire a weapon alright, thumb back the hammer with this here lump of shit, but I can't hunt or climb without it snapping off. And there's more to life in this world than just shootin' every damned thing.'

Tracy nodded. She and Mike had learnt that the hard way.

'So if you can't hunt and you're out of food, how did you survive?'

He smiled wryly, hairs on his cheek bristling.

'Two days after the others left I was ready to die. In my head, that is. The body wanted to keep on living for some reason. Had many three or four days left before I became too empty to move. I'm a tough son-of-bitch. Started hunting around for a nice, dark place to sit and waste away. Found it at the back of this here canyon, behind the shanties. Except it wasn't empty, my little hovel. It was full of food. Probably the Junker's storage. They're like fuckin' squirrels, them junkers.'

Tracy was impressed. 'How much?'

'Enough to last me a month. Which is why you lot can't stay. I'll feed y'all tonight, but then you're out.'

Tracy had not even mentioned staying the night, but the sun was drooping in the west now, and it seemed a wise suggestion.

'Thank you for that. You should come with us.'

He shook his head. 'Not a chance. I've got enough of a life here to last another month, then I'm putting the Peacekeeper here under my chin and saying goodnight. There ain't no better life than this, darl'.' He paused. 'Hell, why don't _you_ stay with _me_?'

She blushed again, replied quietly, 'I don't think Mike would like that very much.'

McCree shrugged. 'That's on you. The offer is there. We might get to three weeks, the two of us.'

She decided to change the subject. 'If you hide in a little cave behind the canyon, how is it that you came out to see us?'

'Y'all were lucky. I'm always up and out at midday. It's the time I stretch my legs, get some fresh air, enjoy what little is left of life. When he sun is right at the top of the sky, that's my favourite time of day. High noon, we call it. The hour I live for.'

'You can live for more than that.' Tracy said, softly.

'No.' He said. 'I can't.'

Tracy didn't realise how close they were sitting, how his fingers were brushing against her thigh, until they heard Road Hog's bellowing voice from across the shanty village.

'We've got incoming!' The big man yelled. 'Not robots, or walkers. We've got vehicles!'

Tracy was on her feet in an instant. 'Shit,' she said, 'what if they're not friendly?'

'They ain't.' McCree promised, glaring into the distance as he pulled his cigar from his lips and stamped it out. 'That'll be my old pack of marauders. Best we don't stick around.'

Tracy helped him put his prosthetic back on.

'Won't they be glad to see you alive again?'

He snorted. 'They'll be glad to see my food storage. Yours too. Then they'll kill us all, drain the well, dump the bodies, and keep moving. They're locusts, no concept of how to survive in this wasteland.' He spat on the dirt in disgust.

'You know, we were never as different from the Junkers as I remember.'

They got to the bottom of the ladder, and found the rest of the group already gathering by the Ute. McCree scratched his stubble-covered chin.

'You know,' he drawled, 'I'm thinking it might be best I hitch a ride with y'all. Just until your next stop, that is.'

Tracy smiled, and they hurried to join the others.


	7. Chapter 7

McCree's marauders were on motorbikes. They could hear them in the distance, echoing up the canyon, getting closer with every passing second. Some were howling and calling out, but so far they did not know McCree was still alive, which everyone considered a blessing. As soon as they found out they would redouble their efforts – or at least that was what McCree suggested would happen.

Their convoy had been travelling for about fifteen minutes when one of the Ute's tyres went flat and the vehicle broke down with a heavy sputter and a cloud of dark smoke. Junkrat was the first to begin swearing and cursing, jumping around the vehicle on his peg-leg, accusing it of being trash. Reaper watched passively.

'This is the problem with you Junkers,' McCree snarled, his raspy voice increasing in anger but not in volume. 'Everything is trash.'

Junkrat turned his wild gaze onto the cowboy. 'Where's your car then, eh, McCree, ya fucker?'

Reaper noticed McCree's fingers twitching by his six-shooter. Yet again it was Tracy who stepped between them.

'Come on,' she said, 'we have more important issues.'

'Fix the car.' Reaper projected his voice into the minds of all around him, but it was directed specifically to Junkrat. The group turned to face him; all but Mercy still looked uncomfortable with the sound of his voice in their heads.

'How the fuck'm I supposed to do that?' Junkrat asked.

'The tyre on your back.' Reaper replied. 'Use it as a substitute.'

Junkrat unhitched the spare tyre from his back. He'd picked it up at the shanty town and had been tinkering with it since, installing a small engine and a mass of explosives.

'No fuckin' way.' Junkrat replied. 'We can use this to take down old McCree's friends back there. If you want to live, we're keeping my wheel right where it is.'

Reaper stared the Junker down, hoping his skull mask looked as formidable as he intended it to.

'Leave the marauders to McCree and myself. The rest of you can fix the car.'

'Five minutes ago you had a bullet wound through your leg,' Mike started to say, 'How are you…?'

'Don't worry about it.' Mercy put her hand on Mike's shoulder, and pointed toward the Ute. 'Reaper is fine. We'll need you to help Road Hog lift the car while Junkrat changes the tyre.'

Reaper turned his attention away from the gang. They were in a tight spot, but they would manage. The primary focus now was the marauders. Reaper had a plan, but he needed a distraction. He was hoping an old friend of theirs would do the trick.

Once Reaper and McCree had left their comrades behind, the cowboy took a cigar from his pocket and lit it. He sucked at it, pulling smoke into his mouth, looking utterly relaxed as they walked back in the direction of their enemies.

'We got a plan, partner?'

Reaper nodded, but said nothing.

'You're a spooky feller, you know that?'

Beneath his mask, Reaper smiled.

'Well, whatever you're planning, I hope it's good. I don't wanna die to these folks. I don't wanna die at all.'

'You won't.' Reaper replied. He said nothing more. If McCree really knew what death was he would panic and lose focus on the mission ahead; they did not need that. Not now.

'What about that young girl, the one in orange?' McCree asked. 'You know anything about her?'

'Tracy?' Reaper asked. He shook his head. 'Nothing… except that she should be dead.'

'Why isn't she?'

'Mercy brought her back from the precipice.'

'And who the fuck is Mercy that she can _bring people back_ like that?'

Reaper considered not replying at all. Mercy's story was her own to tell. But then, he decided, McCree might not return from this adventure, and he deserved to have his last few questions on earth answered.

'An angel.'

…

When the motorcycle engines were so close they could no longer be ignored Reaper gestured for McCree to go on, and carried out his own part of the plan, shadow stepping up to the top of the canyon. From there he looked down, watching as a cloud of dust was pulled along by a caravan of angry looking bikers and stopped, just a half dozen meters from a lone ranger in their path.

'Howdy, gang.' McCree smiled.

The first of the bikers stepped away from their mount and walked over, upholstering a long rifle from the sling on his back. The biker was a large, bulky woman with shaven head, a bandana around her mouth and nose, and goggles over her eyes. She wore tattered clothes and heavy jeans.

'McCree, you sly bastard, we thought you'd be dead by now for sure.'

He shrugged lazily, and drawled his reply. 'Death and I had a run in, but it didn't stick.'

'Well, ain't that fine. So tell us then, McCree, how did y'all survive? Ain't many people get left behind by the Deadlock Gang, and live long enough to tell the tale.'

'I ate tumbleweed,' he replied drily, 'cooked it into a stew with pumpkin, taters, you name it.'

'Tumbleweed stew?' Another of the Deadlock Gang clambered from their bike. 'You fucker, McCree, tell us the goddamned truth.'

'I'd rather not.' He smiled, and the cigar drooped in his lips.

Reaper, meanwhile, watched the whole thing. He was waiting for the right moment, the right opportunity, hoping that it would present itself for him. Just when he was preparing to make his move two of the Deadlock Gang members – those closest to McCree – grabbed him by the upper arms and slammed him up against the wall.

'Damn you, McCree,' the bald woman snarled, her voice barely loud enough to carry to Reaper. 'Damn you for leading us out here, where there ain't a hope to live another month. Damn you for delivering us into this fate. Leaving you to die was too good for you. I should've shot you myself.'

It was as good a chance as any, Reaper told himself. He gathered the darkness under himself, pulling it in as if were a tangible force, and leapt from the top of the canyon. The tightly wound ball of darkness uncoiled beneath him, slowing his fall.

He drew his hellfire shotguns and turned, stepping nimbly in a circle, arms outstretched to his left and right.

'Die,' he snarled, firing left, then right, then left again, turning swiftly, felling enemies. ' _Die.'_ He repeated, projecting the deep of his voice into the hearts and souls of his enemies. _'DIE!'_ He said one last time, firing the last of his shotguns shells so that both weapons ran dry together. He stopped spinning, and allowed the darkness beneath him to dissipate as his feet touched the ground.

Now that he had stopped he looked around. Thirteen figures in total lay on the dirt, blood spreading where fell, all dead and never to stand again. Like a flower blossoming the scent of death spread. He took a deep breath, allowed it to fill his nostrils, felt a shudder of energy as the souls of the newly deceased passed by.

'Ah, Reaper, about that…'

Reaper looked over. McCree had used Reaper's distraction to throw down a flashbang and disarm the bald woman. She was the last remaining member of the Deadlock Gang, if you didn't include McCree – which no one did.

'Kill her.' Reaper said. 'This has been a success.'

'Not in cold blood.' McCree looked down at the woman. 'This is Jenny McCree. This is… my sister.'

…

Reaper said nothing. If McCree wanted the woman to live then he was willing to allow it, but he would not be held responsible for anything the woman did. That was on McCree's conscience, and his alone. It was his decision to make.

But, as it turned out, McCree did not want to see his sister live. And she was equally unwilling to go on living beside her brother. The desert, it seemed, was not big enough for the two of them.

'A duel, then.' McCree suggested. 'You 'n' me, sis, nothing but six-shooters.'

She nodded. 'Suits me just fine, ya Junker-fucking bastard. You still carrying that old Peacekeeper?'

He angled the gun so that she could see it. For some reason she laughed. 'Yep, that's it. Time for an upgrade, isn't it?'

'Maybe after I kill you I'll take yours.' He drawled.

Reaper acted as adjudicator, a job he had not been expecting and did not particularly want. The siblings stood back to back, pistols in hand. The sun slipped behind the horizon.

'On three.' Said McCree.

'Sure y'all don't wanna wait until High Noon tomorrow?' Jen taunted. 'I remember that always was your favourite time of day.'

'Don't matter what time of day it is,' McCree replied. 'I'm still gonna shootcha.'

Reaper projected his voice into both of their heads at the same time.

'One…'

They took a step, fingers twitching. Reaper could sense their fear, their trepidation, and their excitement. Whatever had happened between these two in the previous months had not been good; more, he guessed than the abandonment of McCree at the Junker shanty town.

'Two…'

Another step. Jen McCree was the hungrier of the two. She stalked forward, body tensed and edgy, ready to spring around at any second and empty her clip. Her brother, the cowboy, stood tall and straight.

'Three.' Reaper completed the countdown and the two spun.

Two shots rang out. Reaper looked from side to side, unable to stop himself as curiosity overcame him. Both brother and sister stood, suspended like puppets, for another moment. They had both been so ready to die, in some ways; Jen McCree had seen her entire gang murdered around her, while her brother had lost almost everything in his life. Reaper could not yet see which of the two shots had hit home. He imagined that whichever sibling remained standing after today they would not be the same.

'Fuck you,' Jen said. 'Fuck you and your black hooded friend. Fuck you all and…'

Blood dribbled from her lips. She fired with her pistol, but the shot went wild, ricocheting from the wall of the canyon and into the air without effect. So, it was the sister that had taken the shot. She slumped down to her knees.

The brother did not even approach her. Instead, McCree made his way to Reaper.

'C'mon.' He said. 'Let's get out of here.'

Reaper looked over. 'I heard two shots. Hers missed?'

'They were both mine.' McCree replied, no emotion in his voice at all. 'I was always the faster drawer. Jen didn't even take a shot – not until her finger twitched as she fell a moment ago.'

Reaper blinked. He was not choosing to remain silent this time, he did not know what to say.

'You knew she would die?'

'So did she.' McCree answered. 'I think it's what she wanted. You already killed everyone she cared about. Only reason I suggested a duel was because I didn't wanna shoot her when she was unarmed.'

To this, Reaper did not know what to say. So he said nothing, and followed the cowboy back toward the rest of the group, where hopefully the vehicle would be repaired and the group would be ready to continue.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

By the time Reaper and McCree re-joined the others Junkrat had the Ute sputtering back to life. It was not, he assured them, a lasting fix. But it was better than nothing, and for that they were all grateful. They carried on toward the long afternoon, the sun dipping in front of them, and reached the far end of the canyon just as sun was going down.

'We should rest here.' Mercy said.

Reaper silently agreed, but he did not need to say anything. The entire group felt the same way. They unpacked the back of the Ute and pulled out a great deal of the supplies and water flasks, which they distributed evenly. McCree, though he said little, seemed extremely grateful, and tipped his head as each of his new companions passed him.

Junkrat, Reaper noticed, was still eyeing the cowboy with dangerous eyes. The tension eased when Road Hog eased his momentous bulk over to Junkrat and suggested they split apart from the group, leaving the others alone.

It was Mike who finally started the fire, and just in time. The sun had dived behind the horizon now, and was circling under the world to rise again the next morning. The longer it was gone the colder the desert would be.

'How far to this facility of yours?' McCree asked. He knew the vague details of their destination, but not the specifics. Neither did anyone else, for that matter, save Mike and Tracy who had apparently passed the building days earlier.

'Half a day.' Mike replied, with a glance at Tracy, who nodded. 'If that. We could be there well before mid-day if we leave at dawn tomorrow. But it's not an easy trip.'

'Last time we passed by we were almost wiped out.' Tracy added. 'I would have died if Mercy hadn't rescued me.'

Reaper took this in without saying anything. Mercy nodded, gently, and McCree's lips pinched into an unhappy grimace. The cowboy – or perhaps, Reaper thought now, he was more the sheriff-type – had not left the canyon in some time. It was really no surprise that the thought of it was concerning to him.

'There are a lot of enemies between here and there.' Mike agreed. 'But if we move swiftly, and quietly, we won't have any trouble. The trouble will be getting into the facility. It's guarded by… something.'

'Someone.' Tracy corrected.

'A few people, probably.' Mike shrugged. 'We should be able to manage it.'

The group disbanded not long after that. Mike cleaned his sword with uncharacteristic care. Tracy checked her wounds, and discovered they were almost completely healed. Reaper stood to leave the camp. He might as well explore the area.

Mercy caught up with him before he had walked a dozen paces.

'You're too obvious.' She admonished him before he could get a word in. 'The others will eventually notice that you don't sleep, and then they'll start watching you more closely. And then they'll start to notice _me_ more closely.'

'And?' Reaper asked, allowing the frustrated tone of his voice to flood her mind. 'We have to tell them eventually. These men and women might be the last chance for…'

'Don't say that.' She snapped. 'Don't even say that. There are better men and better women out there. We have plenty of chances.'

Reaper thought about arguing the point, but decided against it. Mercy was full of hope. That was a part of who she was. He was a cynic, and he could not fight his nature either. They worked as a team because they balanced each other. His pragmatism, her optimism, and the cause which united them…

'I will tell them tomorrow.' Reaper promised.

'Don't you dare.' Mercy turned and walked away. He almost imagined he could see her wings bristling in annoyance, but they were packed away against the back plates of her armour, out of sight and out of mind.

He stepped into the shadows.

The darkness consumed him, welcomed him like the cold embrace of still water. It flooded over him and obscured him, and he became one with it. Not quite invisible, perhaps, but in the darkness he might as well have been.

He slipped past the campfire. Mike was still up, his eyelids drooping on his warmly lit Asian face as he watched the dancing flames. Tracy sat beside him, saying nothing, her arm wrapped around his. And opposite them was McCree. For a long time the lone ranger was absolutely still. Then he leaned forward, lit a new cigar in the open flame, and drew it into his mouth.

Reaper continued on.

Mercy was setting up tents using scraps of canvas they had harvested from the shanty town. They were not much to look at, scattered around as they were, but they would do. It was a very _Mercy_ thing to do, Reaper decided; setting up tents that she would not even use. Mercy, like him, did not sleep. She was an angel, and had no need for it.

He was something else entirely.

Road Hog and Junkrat had not gone far, as he suspected they had not. But rather than emptying their bowels, the pair were actually ducking behind a large boulder and whispering to each other. Reaper, allowing the darkness to carry him, approached them as closely as he could without altering them to his presence.

'…tried to tell you earlier, didn't I, but all the others were around.' Junkrat was saying defensively. 'So lay off!'

Road Hog's voice was deep and guttural. 'Should've told me straight away. Fuck the others!'

'Trust me, we aren't wanting that kind of panic.'

'So how bad is it?'

'The reason I was late back to camp the other day is because it is really _fucking_ bad. I'm talking an army as far as the eye can see. Every soul from the West coast is on their way, walking as one, clearing the land like a plague. I mean _literally_ to the far reaches of what your eye can imagine, Hoggy. This is not a joke.'

'How long do we have?'

The moon shone above now. The sky was a deep, royal blue, and the stars twinkled in its ceiling canvas with startling beauty. The deep browns of the canyon seemed grey. The dusty sand was similarly colourless.

Junkrat spoke with an air of defeatism. 'At the pace we made today we could outrun them all the way to the East Coast. But we can't keep up this pace. Another day or so and the car will break down again. Within the week we'll be facing more raids of undead or robots scattered in the area. We've got the facility to bust into tomorrow afternoon, if we manage it, and our supplies will be lucky to last the fortnight. And _even then,_ Hoggy, even if all else goes to plan, I can only assume that there is a similarly large army approaching from the East. I don't know what's caused this nightmare, but it's not going to end that easily.'

'Put it into words for me,' Road Hog replied. 'What's the immediate problem here?'

'The immediate problem is that ever since the fucking Fallout, no one's been dyin'.' Junkrat spat onto the cold night sand. 'The problem is that the government thought they could fix it all with robots that have turned against us. And the problem, my gluttonous friend, is that we're trapped in the middle of a continent full of enemies without any feasible way of reaching the coast. And if we did reach the coast…'

'Can't exactly swim to safety.' Road Hog completed the observation. 'So… we're fucked then?'

'Sure we're fucked, buddy. We've been fucked for weeks.' Junkrat was tinkering now with some tool he had found in his pocket. 'And since that's the case 'n' all, I reckon I'll have myself a shot at killing old McCree before all is said and done. A little revenge would do me a world of good.'

Road Hog said nothing to discourage his partner.

And Reaper, who had heard every word, slipped away into the night.

…

Mike and Tracy had claimed themselves a rag-tent by the time Reaper returned to the camp. He thought about intruding upon them, but then realised he had nothing to say. And besides, they were mid-conversation. He listened to them for just a moment – they were talking about a brother, and a stolen sword, and a disappointed father in a faraway country – when he realised that he had no right to intervene.

That was until Tracy mentioned something he had not heard before.

'I think,' she said, 'that I travelled in time yesterday. Maybe more than once.'

'Travelled in time?' Mike asked. 'That's ridiculous. That's impossible.'

'A lot of things used to be impossible. We used to say it was impossible for the dead to walk, or the world to end. Now they say it is impossible for us to keep on surviving in this world. But all those things are true.'

'But time travel…?'

'Just a few seconds. One moment I was standing in place, and the next I was back. I swear it's happened more than once. I'm flickering in and out of…'

'I'm going to stop you right there.' Mike replied. 'It's just not possible.'

'You're not listening to me, Mike. It _happened_. I felt it.'

'Maybe you just imagined it. You said it was only a few seconds. Perhaps you acted on instinct, and by the time you realised where you were it was…'

'Fuck you, Mike.' Tracy stood to leave. The rustling of loose tent sheets warned Reaper to step aside just in time. She glanced straight past him in the darkness. 'Fuck you for not believing me, when I believe all the crap you say.'

'Hey, come back!' Mike called.

He was too late. Tracy was gone.

Reaper wondered what Tracy meant by time travel, and wished she had finished the conversation. He considered going after her, but there was no easy way to bring up the topic without admitting that he had been listening in to her private chat; something she had clearly only wanted to discuss with Mike.

He had been doing that a lot lately; listening to people's private moments, following them in the darkness. He needed to know everything he could about these humans, what type of people they were, what was in their character that could be used, could be trusted, could be valuable. Mercy hated him for it. It was in her nature to believe the best of people, especially under pressure, but Reaper had no such faith.

Faith, perhaps, was what divided them. He would never have it. Mercy certainly would. But faith in people was not something he would allow them to trust in. At least, not _blind_ faith, and not in these people. There was too much at stake.

He found Mercy sitting alone, beyond the campfire – which had now been abandoned by McCree – and sat beside her.

'Did you discover anything new?' she asked.

'Nothing of significant value.'

'Are you proud of yourself?'

'I do what I must.' Reaper did not want to justify himself to Mercy. They had agreed to work as a team, yes, but he was not answerable to her.

'Well, I guess that settles it.' She stood in a huff and left.

Not for the first time, Reaper found himself alone. He did not believe Mercy had the right to be upset at him, but he would not dwell on it. In a few more minutes he would do another round, and try yet again to discover what drove these people. Tomorrow night he would do the same. And again the next night. Until he knew more about these people than they knew about themselves.

The sound of a throat clearing broke into his reverie. He turned to see McCree, his red scarf wrapped around his neck, sit up. The cowboy had been lounging behind a upturned log to the left of where he had been sitting. It was a simple, but remarkable place to hide. In the moonlit darkness Reaper never would have spotted him.

He wondered how much of the conversation McCree had heard, and silently allowed himself to be grateful that neither he, nor Mercy, had mentioned anything unmentionable.

'You're not the only one who can spy on his fellows.' McCree drawled. 'I saw you watchin' Mike and Tracy earlier. And the boys before that.' He squinted his eyes further. 'I don't trust you, mask-face. An' I don't like you. I'll act on that if I need to.'

Reaper smiled beneath the mask, and projected his voice into McCree's mind with the most sinister, threatening tone he could muster.

'You're welcome to try.'


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The group rose with the sun, wary of one another but cautiously optimistic for the day ahead. Mike and Tracy, though not currently speaking to one another, reassured the rest of the party that their destination was not far away. Road Hog and Junkrat hung back, morose. McCree swaggered somewhere in the middle, Mercy drove the Ute, and Reaper moved where he pleased.

Everything was going fine until they saw _it_ in the distance.

 _It_ appeared to be a dot on the horizon at first. It did not bother them until well after they had stopped for a morning rest and drinks break. But by then the dot was bigger, and there was not a single member of the group who did not have it on their mind. They continued in silence, save for the puttering of the Ute, wondering what was hurtling towards them.

'Robots, I'd say.'

Reaper overheard Mike whispering it to McCree, but the seasoned warrior shook his head, scratching his stubble with the false limb.

'Naw… the dust clouds too big. That's vehicles.'

'Vehicles? As in… more than one?'

'Plural, yeah.' McCree squinted. 'Maybe… three?'

Reaper, who had little experience with vehicles, and even less with being tracked like an animal, deferred to McCree's judgement. He asked the more important question, projecting his voice into their minds.

'How long until they reach us?'

'Not long.' McCree answered, his voice a pessimistic drawl. 'Less than an hour. On terrain as flat as this a speck in the distance won't look like much until it's almost upon you. And then there's nothing you can do.'

'We can get to high ground.' Mike interjected. The young man had a hand on the hilt of his blade, and was pointing with his other hand to a rocky outcrop only a few hundred meters away.

The group took a quick vote. It was unanimous. They angled the Ute toward the outcrop and picked up the pace. If they were about to be drawn into a fight it would be on their terms.

…

McCree's guess had been very close. It was four vehicles that skidded up to the outcrop about half an hour later, each armed with swivelling turrets and a handful of weapon-wielding men and women. All of them looked to be of Asian descent, and all looked tough.

 _Skidded_ was undoubtedly the wrong word. These were upgraded vehicles, from just before the Fallout – the kind you saw scattered and abandoned all over major cities. When they parked onto the dusty sand it was with a low thrumming noise, grains of sand fanning out under the pressurised air.

From each of the vehicles a soldier climbed out and took the turret in hand, aiming up at the outcrop. The rest of the soldiers unloaded themselves, and brought with them a heavy looking weapon. In contrast the weapons of Reaper's allies looked pitiful. McCree's Peacekeeper, for example, was ancient, despite how effectively he wielded it. And Road Hog's shotgun looked practically handmade.

'We believe you have someone we want.' The apparent leader of the newcomers declared. She was a fit looking woman, rifle in hand, and a sword on her back. The sword was not half as ferocious looking as Mike's, but Reaper could not help but notice the resemblance.

Mercy was the self-appointed spokesperson. She stood up, abandoning her defensive position, and looked down at the miniature siege. They only had two or three meters in height advantage, and the outcrop was not wide, but it was big enough to give them a significant advantage. If their pursuers attempted to surround them, Reaper would gladly pick them off. They had parked the Ute on the far side of the rocky hill, where it blocked the easiest path to the top.

'That is no way to start a conversation.' Mercy replied. 'Tell us who you are, and what your business is in these parts.'

'You are in no position to make demands from us.'

'Actually,' Mercy smiled now, 'I think I am. We have a truck full of supplies up here, and you seem to have brought almost nothing. I'm guessing you are a scouting party. And though your scouting party may outnumber us, we have the higher ground as well as the more defensible position. If you try to circle us, or starve us out, we will destroy you.'

There was a significant pause from below. The woman seemed annoyed. Finally she looked up.

'You're right, as it happens. But your correct assumptions do not put you in the good position you believe they do. Think of it this way. If we're a scouting party, out in the middle of the desert without provisions, that tells you two things. The first is that there is a bigger force we are scouting for. The second is that they are extremely well-provisioned, and not too far away for us to return to. I say again. I say it clearly: you are surrounded. This entire desert is not large enough for you to escape our sight or our grasp. And you have someone we want.'

'I have someone you're never going to get,' Mercy said, more forcefully, 'unless you answer my questions.'

'You won't have the option of receiving my answers unless you…'

It seemed the show of tenacity was going to get out of hand when Mike, finally, stood up, his arms in the air as a show of surrender. The woman below, and her troops, looked around at each other. There were some whispers and gesturing.

'So, you're going to come quietly, are you?' The woman asked, with a hint of taunt in her tone.

'Not likely.' He answered. 'And you can fuck off, Mara.'

'Ah, don't be like that.' She was grinning now, apparently enjoying the turn of events. Reaper watched the exchange passively, not particularly caring for the subtle dynamics, but vaguely curious as to what the hell was going on.

'What is she talking about?' Mercy asked, her voice only low enough for the people on top of the outcrop to hear.

'She's talking about me.' Mike replied, sounding regretful. 'She's here on behalf of my brother, in Japan. I'm guessing he's nearby, probably with their main force.'

'And what do they want you for?' Road Hog grunted. The expression on his face seemed somewhere between willing to fight and die for Mike, or willing to hand him over. Reaper, to be frank, was feeling somewhat the same. But he said nothing.

'It's a long story…' Mike trailed off. It was Tracy who finished his thought.

'Because he betrayed his family and stole that sword.' She shrugged, when Mike gave her an accusing look. 'Sorry. But that's the basics of it.'

'Genji!' Maya called from below. 'You still up there, or are you hiding now?'

'Who's Genji?' Mercy asked.

Mike lowered his face, something like shame dragging him down. 'I am.' He said. 'But I haven't been called that in many years. Not since I left Japan.'

Shots rang out. A few bounced from the rocks that ran around the outcrop. The enemy meant business if they were aiming that close. Mercy, who was still half-standing, bent lower to keep out of their line of sight.

'Well, _Genji_ ,' Mercy said, looking displeased, 'it looks like we're in some danger because of you. I hope you have a plan.'

He didn't.

…

While Mike – Genji – did his best to explain and Mercy did her best to arrange their defensive perimeter, Maya and her team were already moving into position. She had taken the enemy's silence to mean that they were going to fight back, although the opposite was much closer to the truth; Junkrat and McCree seemed to agree on something for the first time in their lives. Both men wanted Mike handed over.

'That's not how we do things.' Mercy snapped.

Tracy added her own thoughts. 'Mike is my best friend, my partner, my... lover. We are not sending him out to die. You wanna do that you can go through me.'

Junkrat raised his grenade launcher at a devastatingly close distance. 'I might just do that, sweet thing.'

McCree was more permissive. 'What if we send him down, an' he acts as a distraction? We could still get out of this alive.'

Reaper allowed his own thoughts to bury those of his allies. 'We have reason to trust Genji. We do not have any reason to trust those people below. We should do for him only what we would want him to do for us.'

That bought a moment of silence.

'It's a pretty point you're making,' Junkrat scowled, 'but the fact stands that I haven't brought a platoon of enemies to our doorstep.'

'I disagree.' Tracy countered. 'The first morning we met Road Hog there were two dozen zombies crowding our escape. I reckon there's a fair chance they were in the area looking for you. That was the same night you stayed out late, wasn't it?'

Junkrat turned away, muttering angrily.

'And speaking of Road Hog, what's your op…' Tracy's voice died in her throat as she turned, and the remainder of the group turned with her.

Road Hog was standing on the edge of the rocky outcrop, his bulk blocking out some of the sun as it rose in the East. Below, Maya and her forces were staring up at the large man, and looked unimpressed. But Road Hog did not care for them. He had a mission.

With booming voice he called, 'Get the fuck out of here,' and fired his hook down into the throng of enemies. One was caught by the hook as it latched around his shoulder and pierced his upper chest, but before the man could cry out he was yanked back up by the winch on Road Hog's back, hurtling through the air with nothing but a sprinkle of falling blood trailing behind.

The man arrived at Road Hog's left hand, limp and terrified, having dropped his weapon and his bravery on the brief flight up. Road Hog raised his right hand – the hand that always carried his shotgun – and pressed it into the man's face.

'I really hope your pals down there get the message,' he growled, 'because this is gonna be fuckin' messy.'

And he pulled the trigger.

True to his word it was fucking messy. The soldier was blown apart by the close-proximity blast, and Road Hog was showered in blood and body-matter. Most of the others were spared, but the stain to Mercy's white breastplate was obvious and unavoidable. Road Hog, as soon as he had fired the shot, returned to hide behind the meagre rocky defences. Maya and her troops were shouting and screaming and firing pointlessly up at them.

'That was stupid.' Mercy berated the big man. 'Now all you have done is made them mad. Unforgivably mad. Our only chance for a somewhat peaceful resolution has been squandered.'

Reaper didn't say it, but he admired Road Hog. The obese fighter had made a decision and stuck with it. Why he had made that decision it was difficult to say: perhaps the Hog had bonded with Mike on their first night at the gas station, and was unwilling to give him up. Perhaps he was just a team player. Either way, they were bound together now. Maya and her forces would consider everyone on top of the outcrop an enemy, no matter how they really felt about Mike – Genji. So the group would have to fight together.

Or die together.


	10. Chapter 10

The battle began.

Maya, leading the Japanese hit squad, immediately had her forces spread out. They fanned around the rocky outcrop, shooting up, forcing their opponents to duck back and search for cover.

McCree found himself leading the defence, as if by accident. The others did not seem to know how to lead a team, nor how to work as a team, so it was only logical he took charge. His time leading the Deadlock Gang had taught him a lot about leadership.

'Junkrat,' he nodded to the spiky haired junker, 'start lobbing. Make it rain grenades. The rest of us can use that to our advantage.'

Junkrat, looking just a little panicked, obliged. He aimed the launcher high and fired. The first of the explosive projectiles flashed in the high sunlight before beginning its descent. It detonated, and there was a panicked shout from below. The consistent gunfire faltered as the hit squad re-evaluated their position.

His group had every right to look afraid, McCree acknowledged, though most of them hid it well behind their bravado. Their enemies had over double the numbers and superior technology, and high ground or not McCree and the others were surrounded. They had a good defensive position, but nowhere to retreat to.

'Road Hog,' he drawled, looking at the big man who was still showered in red splatter, 'you go back to the Ute, defend our rear. They'll try to flank us. The rest of you, with me.'

McCree saw Reaper slipping away, but did not attempt to pull the grim warrior back. He was a wild card, yes, but McCree had seen him in action, and he trusted that particular wild card. At least he trusted him to do the right thing. And in this case the right thing was a great deal of damage to their enemies.

'What do you want us to do?' Mercy asked, holding a pointlessly small pistol in her hands. Her wings had fanned out on her back now and, whether McCree believed a word of what Reaper said or not, she did look like an angel.

'I want to charge 'em.' McCree answered, dry and gritty. 'It's the only way we can get the jump on 'em. And I'm sure as hell hoping to get 'em to surrender.'

Mercy nodded. Mike and Tracy exchanged a glance, but said nothing. Junkrat, who was hopping around on his peg leg and firing grenade after grenade down onto their enemies, seemed almost gleefully unaware of the true danger they were in, as if all it took for him to forget his trouble was a chance to make something blow up.

And on that note; something blew up.

It was one of the hover cars, McCree realised. Junkrat, firing blindly, had managed to hit it with a grenade, and a blossoming mushroom cloud of flame and smoke billowed into their line of sight. It was as good a chance as any.

'Now!' McCree called. He charged over the top of the rocky outcrop without waiting to see if the others followed. He fired the Peacekeeper once, twice, three times. His first shot caught one of the Japanese soldiers in the neck and he fell; the second two missed. He rolled forward, dust billowing around him, then tossed a flash-bang grenade toward a group of enemies to his left. The grenade went off with something like a _ping_ noise, and light flared. McCree shut his eyes with plenty of time to spare, and opened them as soon as it was safe. His enemies, blinded and disorientated, were not so lucky. He raised the Peacekeeper again and thumbed back the hammer with his false hand. Three rapid shots flew out. Three foes fell.

He would have perished then and there if not for Mike – _Genji_ – and Tracy, who had dutifully followed him down the rocky hill and into the enemy encampment. Mike flung a shuriken star that rebounded from a vehicle and slammed into an enemy, knocking them down. Tracy fired her twin pistols, emptying their small clips in an instant, and reloading again.

McCree tried to watch her as he reloaded his own six-shooter. She was utterly distracting, such a lithe figure, such tight clothes…

She flickered in and out of his view, first dancing ahead, then reappearing where she had stood a moment ago. His attempts to watch her became more and more disorientating, reaching a point where he had no idea where she actually was. Had he lost his mind? Was he finally going crazy, or was Tracy actually moving in and out of time?

A shot ricocheted past his head, and he ducked, finally reloading the Peacekeeper. There were still enemies in the area. He could worry about Tracy and her apparent abilities later.

He felt a bullet pass through his upper shoulder, and another his leg, and fell to the ground, trying to find cover while also shooting back. No luck. The Japanese hit squad had him surrounded. Mike and Tracy, it seemed, were also pinned down. He had to…

Mercy appeared, swooping down from the outcrop with staff and pistol in each hand. As she flew above the nearest enemy he kicked them in the face and they fell. She landed, cat-like, on the bonnet of one of the hover cars and lashed out with her staff, knocking a foe down and shooting another.

McCree tried to stand, but his leg and arm were weak, aching from bullet wounds. Blood was already soaking his clothing. Mercy noticed, pointed her staff toward him, and a brilliant glow radiated from the tip of the weapon to his own body. The light basked him, and he felt its power. A _healing_ power. The bullets extricated themselves from his rapidly healing flesh and in moments he felt not just healed, but better than he had in a long time.

He stood without difficulty, raised his six-shooter, and looked around.

The enemies were down. Those not dead had surrendered, and were lowering themselves to their knees as Genji and Tracy aimed their weapons at heads. Each of the foes looked dishonoured, and furious at being outmatched. And yet something wasn't quite right…

'Hell of an effort.' Genji grinned, sheathing his sword. 'Mercy, you came in at just the right moment, a little distraction…'

'And a little healing.' Tracy added, gesturing toward McCree. 'I bet he's grateful. I know I was when you fixed me up.'

'I'm grateful.' McCree grunted, not looking at Mercy. He did another count of their enemies, just to make sure, and reached the same result. 'Fuck. Where are the others?'

Mercy's beaming smile slid from her face as she, too, realised the problem. There were only a dozen enemies around them. Some dead, some alive, most wounded. They had done well to take out so many with only four – and Junkrat's cover fire, of course – but it was still not enough. Before the fight began there had been fourteen, or fifteen, if not more. Where was Maya?

'I think…' Mercy began.

Gunfire interrupted their thoughts. They looked up, and saw Junkrat toppling down over the edge of the rocks. Perhaps he had been shot, or perhaps just thrown down. It was hard to say.

Still standing, his back to those below, was Road Hog. The big man had lost his gas mask and was firing at enemies McCree could not see from where he stood. It seemed that Maya and a few of her allies had indeed flanked them, and had pushed Road Hog back to attack from behind. The big man would not last long alone up there. If McCree's counts were correct three or four enemies, at least, had flanked them from behind.

McCree reloaded. But there was no way he could get up there in time to help. Not unless…

'Road Hog!' he called. The big man glanced down, sweat on his fat-covered face. 'Hook me!'

Road Hog obliged, turning to face McCree and firing the hook. McCree held up his false hand and the hook latched onto it painlessly. Without a moment to prepare himself McCree was yanked up into the air. He managed to kick off some rocks with both feet as he shot forward, and his own momentum carried him well past Road Hog in a high arc…

The apex of his flight was two meters above Road Hog's head, still anchored by the chain and the heavy Hog below. He hung there for a moment, looking down on the outcrop as if flying, and for the first time understood the term _bird's eye._

He raised the Peacekeeper. He looked at his enemies. The air around him surrounded every inch of him, a sensation he had never felt before. It played with his hair, teased his inevitable fall back to earth, but allowed him his moment in the sky. He aimed. And he fired.

Three shots.

Three misses.

It was almost impossible to shoot accurately while hoisted in open air, with barely a split second to aim and fire. But in fairness McCree did remarkably well – his bullets pounded into the dust by his enemy's feet, and they all stood back in alarm. It had all happened in less than a few seconds, and neither Maya, nor the two men flanking her, quite understood it.

McCree crashed to the ground a moment later, his stint of gravity-defying over as swiftly as it began. A spike of pain shot up from his back. He had landed painfully.

He looked up to see Maya's blade and the nozzles of two rifles facing him.

'I should shoot you for even trying something that stupid,' Maya smiled, 'but I have to say I'm a little impressed. Now, where the fuck is Genji? I will take him, or…'

Reaper appeared.

One moment it was McCree on the ground with three enemies looming over him, the next they had an enemy looming behind them. The cold, hungry steel of Reaper's guns softly stroked the backs of Maya and her closest companion's heads. He didn't need to say anything, but he said it anyway.

'Put them down.'

The dark voice travelled straight into the minds of Maya and her companions. McCree heard it too, wondered briefly if he had imagined it, then resigned himself to the fact that he simply did not understand Reaper. He did not understand Mercy either. An angel and a demon, perhaps?

Maya and her two soldiers lowered their weapons. They looked pained about it, but they did not have a great deal of choice. McCree lifted himself to his feet and dusted himself down.

'Well,' he turned back to Road Hog, who was watching on in stunned fascination, 'that was fun.'

…

Mike and Maya were not invited to participate in the peace talks. Both were too hot under the collar, still itching for a fight. Mike had drawn his blade, and seemed ready to decapitate Maya the moment he saw that she had been disarmed. She, similarly, had reached for her weapon and had to be held down by Road Hog.

It was Mercy, as usual, who spoke for the allies. Maya's second-in-command, one of only seven to survive the fight, spoke for the Japanese. His English was impeccable.

'We can't let you go.' Mercy said.

'Neither can we.' The soldier replied flatly. 'I would like to, but it is a matter of honour.'

'Then it seems we are at an impasse.'

'You do not seem to want to shed unnecessary blood.' The 2IC replied. 'And you cannot take us with you, you have neither the provisions nor the equipment. So you must let us go.'

'We could steal your vehicles.' Mercy countered.

'You may steal them anyway, it will not help you. There is no rope with which to tie us up, and we will try to escape if given the chance.'

McCree wanted to threaten them all with death, but decided against it. He didn't want to waste bullets, and he'd never before shot an unarmed enemy, he wasn't about to start now. Junkrat, whom McCree had expected would be very willing to finish off their disarmed foes, seemed surprisingly indifferent.

'Let 'em go,' he said. 'Better off having some frightened survivors to scare away the bigger force.'

'You will not scare away the bigger force. I will tell them you are a rag-tag group of warriors, with only second-rate weapons and a food supply that diminishes every day. They will come for you. Genji's brother will come for him until his last breath is drawn.'

Reaper raised his arm and fired. The 2IC fell back, dead. Reaper inhaled the smoke from the barrel of the weapon and looked around at the other Japanese soldiers. Maya, restrained a short distance away, shouted out in anger and shock.

'Fuck off,' he told them. 'And tell Genji's brother to fuck off too. We won't tell you again.'

McCree caught Mercy looking disparagingly at Reaper. She clearly did not approve of this decision, and neither did Mike or Tracy, who complained loudly at allowing Maya to leave. But in the end Maya and her five remaining soldiers did leave, albeit unarmed, and sporting several injuries. For Reaper and Mercy were, one way or another, leaders of the group. And despite their complaints no one seemed willingly to fight their decisions.

McCree, for his part, was just a little glad to see the Japanese riders shrinking into the distance. Between the robots, and the Fallout, and the dead that walked it was nice to know they'd spared a few lives. Lives of living, breathing people. It didn't make up for all the Deadlock gang members he had helped kill the day before, but hell, it was something.

When Genji finally calmed down after Maya was allowed to leave, he took his position at the head of the convoy. Noon was upon them, and they were behind schedule.

'This way,' he said, pointing. 'Let's see if we can't break into this facility before nightfall. I have a feeling we'll need the light for this one. And even then it'll be a fucking miracle if we all get out alive.'

McCree couldn't help but agree.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Mike and Tracy's _facility_ turned out to be a stone building of indeterminate size, locked into a cliff face in a nearby red-rock mountain. Its open front gaped like mouth of a gargantuan whale, deadly to all those who entered its dark and unwelcoming maw. Between the outer wall – a low, ineffectual layer of rubble – and the actual doorway set into the stone was approximately fifty meters of piled up, discarded vehicles, twisting corridors of trash, and semi-completed concrete defences. A labyrinth of defence.

'Not so hard.' Road Hog grunted.

McCree looked at the big man. Clearly the Road Hog had no idea what it meant to lead an attack such as this. Rushing into a war-torn mess like this one was suicide. There could be any number of traps, mines, or enemy soldiers lying in wait. If there was a sizeable force that did not want them to enter, they would be almost powerless to do so.

'Not so hard?' Junkrat backhanded the arm of his flabby companion. 'This is a death trap waiting to happen.'

Genji (whom McCree still thought of as Mike on occasion) spoke up. 'Last time Tracy and I passed by here we tried to get in. We barely made it out alive.'

'How did you?' McCree asked warily.

'Well, I don't think they wanted us dead.' Genji shrugged. 'We're not machines, and we're not dead, after all.'

The day had passed swiftly after the battle with Maya and her Japanese hit-squad. A few miraculous clouds had drifted lazily across the sky, small and wispy. It was not normal for this part of the desert but, after all, the weather was nothing to rely on. It had been wild and unpredictable since the Fallout. Who knows what damage had been done when those catastrophic missiles were detonated?

Still, night was fast approaching, and although no one had said it the fact remained that no one wanted to be outside when darkness came.

'So we approach cautiously then.' Mercy said, the perpetual voice of reason. 'With hands up, and weapons lowered. Whoever runs this place is _not_ a mindless foe. They may see us as potential allies. They may allow us to enter.'

'I don't think that's likely.' Tracy replied, and there were hums of agreement from most of the party. Still, Mercy held a great deal of respect among the group. As healer and a fearsome warrior she had led them to victory more than once, and continued to bring them back to health with her inexplicable magic.

Her _heavenly_ magic, if Reaper was to be believed.

And speaking of Reaper, the other six turned to him now. The silent, black-clad figure seemed disinterested in the conversation. And yet he, for whatever reason, held the same kind of authority as Mercy. She looked at him imploringly.

'It's the best plan.' He agreed finally. Mercy nodded briskly, and began directing their companions to look as submissive as possible. Only McCree, eagle-eyed as always, noticed her breath of relief, as if she had not quite known which way the Reaper would vote.

'Who wants to go first?' Junkrat asked once everyone was ready. He spoke from the front seat of the Ute, trying not to look like a threat, while the group gathered around.

'The car should.' Mercy replied.

'The hell it should! I ain't drivin' in there ahead of the rest of you! They'll blast me to pieces before I can get halfway to the first spot over there.'

McCree looked to where Junkrat was pointing, at a derelict looking wall that almost passed for a safe spot among the treacherous rubble. The doorway at the back of the cavernous entrance looked further away than ever.

'I will.' Genji said, unsheathing his sword in a show of defiance. Mercy slapped the flat of the blade down with her palm.

'Idiot. Don't show your weapon!'

'Let me then.' McCree drawled. 'I'm not much of a hero, but I owe the rest of you a…'

He paused as he saw Tracy leaving the ranks of the group and rushing toward the danger zone. His words caught in his throat. Of everyone here he had hoped she would survive the most. And yet there she was, running toward death ahead of all the others. Genji called out. A moment later so did Mercy. Tracy slowed to a walk when she was beyond their reach to stop and passed through the first set of walls…

Miraculously, nothing.

The assumption had been that there would be at least a turret of some sort situated on the back side of the walls, but the further past them Tracy walked the longer she lived – against all odds.

McCree breathed a sigh of relief. Opposite him Genji did the same, and suggested the others follow after. Junkrat brought the engine to life and the warriors moved forward.

Only then did the shots ring out.

McCree heard the bullets before he saw them, and in fact would not have seen them at all if pillars of misplaced dust hadn't been thrown into the air at each impact. A dozen spurts of sand raked their way toward Tracy, who rolled forward just in time, and the machinegun fire shot past.

Then she was gone, darting forward. Had she run, McCree wondered, or had she flickered in time again? Blink and miss it.

'Come on!' Genji shouted, rushing into the occupied zone and drawing his katana. They spotted the turrets then, hidden as they were behind piles of trash. Genji dodged one, and managed to destroy its firing function with a well-thrown shuriken star. Reaper appeared in a flash of smoke and disarmed another to their left. Road Hog, using his long hook, took out a third from a rooftop. They strode forward, feeling untouchable, Mercy at their backs with her healing stave in hand.

McCree checked to make sure he had six shots in the Peacekeeper and, sated, followed along cautiously.

They made it less than a dozen meters before they were attacked again, this time by actual enemy fire.

It came from their left. Road Hog was hit, three rounds slamming into his bulky side, and the big man staggered to take a breather. Junkrat shot at their foe without even looking, lobbing a grenade launcher, but the enemy had already moved on, shooting out from a position of cover and sprinting across the plain.

'Fuck,' Junkrat whistled. 'He's fast.'

McCree could not help but agree. The figure ran as fast as some motorcycles he had seen.

More gunfire from their left. The six turned to defend themselves when a rocket slammed into the wall behind them and it rained rubble. They turned again, but were too late. Their enemies, it seemed, were all around.

'What the hell…' McCree drawled.

'Anyone catch a sight of them?' Junkrat had stopped the Ute to help give them some cover, and was leaning out the driver side window.

'Anyone see Tracy?' Genji asked, looking somewhat afraid with his blade in the air.

McCree peeled his eyes and there he saw one, sprinting from a spot of cover to a new position. He whipped up the Peacekeeper and fired. The bullet tore through the running man's leg and he toppled to one side.

'So,' he drawled, 'the sons of bitches can be killed.'

It was Road Hog who took the next one. He was a big man, but he was angry, and his reflexes were sharp. The next soldier to run past was too close, and Road Hog snapped it up with his hook, winching the man in to finish him.

The soldier did not come easily. As Road Hog pulled him in he raised his legs and kicked the big man to the ground. Normally, McCree guessed, a kick like that would not have been enough to floor the obese road warrior, but Road Hog _had_ just been shot after all.

The soldier raised his heavy pulse rifle and looked around at the group, daring them to attack him before he made the first shot. It was the stance of a bargainer; the stance of a young man who was not ready to die. The stance of a man about to say something that he hoped would save his life.

'Surrender,' Mercy said. 'We don't want to…'

The man shot her. A shallow wound across the top shoulder that dropped Mercy to the ground. The rest of the group surged toward her, but halted. Their enemy held a much more powerful weapon at this moderate range – automatic of course. A quick spray of bullets and he could take them all down.

As noted, it was Road Hog who took him out and saved them all. The big man got to his feet with deceptive noiselessness for his great size and, rather than use his shotgun, took out the throat of the soldier with his hook at close range. It was a messy affair, but Road Hog was full of vengeance. The enemy soldier died quickly, toppling to the ground in a pool of red.

'Fuck that guy.' Hog snarled.

More shots, more rockets, fired from all directions. The six gathered closer still, using what little cover they could from the Ute and the scrap-covered yard. They were too far from the door, and too far from the outer wall, to make a run for it. They were trapped.

'Where the hell is Tracy?' Genji asked.

McCree examined the body of the dead soldier. Though bloodstained, it was clear to see that his uniform was red, white, and blue; the national colours. He wore combat boots and gloves, carried standard issue weaponry, and had a wrist-mounted rocket launcher on his left arm. The face was covered by a tactical visor, red-lights blinking, that disguised all features save the scruffy blonde hair above.

McCree leaned closer still. On the man's waist was a small pouch he recognised. When he'd been leading the Deadlock gang he had run into a number of government agent's carrying them. A biotic emitter, field issue. He snatched it away and held it out to the Road Hog, whose injuries were the most serious.

'Here,' he said. 'This is a biotic emitter. Since Mercy's unconscious it will help with your wounds.'

'How's it work?' Road Hog growled.

'Just place it on the ground and the displaced biotic microbots will instantly move towards any injury they sense in the nearby…'

McCree was cut off. Rather than place it on the ground the Road Hog stuffed it in his mouth and shattered the protective casing with his teeth. The microbots surged into his system, healing the huge fighter even as McCree watched.

'Or,' he admitted, 'do that.'

More shots rang out, and a rocket detonated against the side of the Ute. Junkrat was firing out towards his enemies, and Reaper was soaring across the battlefield, a dark untouchable shadow. Genji looked frustrated, unable to risk approaching his enemy with the sword, but lacking enough shuriken stars to do any damage from a distance.

'Has anyone seen Tracy?' He repeated.

And this time, finally, McCree could answer yes.

He saw her over Genji's shoulder. She was practically flying – one moment jumping forwards, then darting through the air in an inexplicable flash. Her short brown hair seemed not to know which direction to face as she ran ahead, then back, then reappeared where she had been moments ago. Time was broken around her.

She was cute, McCree noted, in a way that he was unable not to notice. Her tight orange pants accentuated the slender grace of her legs, and she cut a lithe figure as she raced across and over and through all obstacles.

But she was also deadly. Her twin pistols pulsed as she moved, flashing shots towards her enemies on all sides, attacking them from all angles, a one-woman force of destruction and mayhem.

Enemies fell all around her.

He watched as she clambered up a pile of rubble, darted forward, and shot an unwary foe in the back of the head even as he took cover on a rooftop. She then flashed back to where she had been, kicked in the face a soldier who had been chasing her, and shot him too. No matter how many of the enemies approached her she could not be taken down.

McCree felt his heart swell with pride and, dare he admit it, attraction. She was a hell of a fighter. Whatever abilities she had, she was using them well.

Another thirty seconds passed and the coast was cleared. Tracy, dashing back and forth through the exposed battleground, had picked their defences apart with ease. She strolled back to the group now, hips swaying, with an expression of supreme satisfaction on her face.

'How was that?' She asked.

No one knew what to say to answer her. After McCree had spotted her the others had all turned their attention to her efforts, and were now all equally stunned by what they had seen. So Tracy shrugged and faced Genji directly.

'Do you believe me yet?' She asked.

He nodded weakly. 'Sure. I believe you. But what the fuck was it?'

Tracy opened her mouth, but remained quiet for a moment, as if not sure what to say. Perhaps she didn't even have the answer.

Either way she was spared the moment by the creaking noise of a doorway opening. They turned as one to look at their destination, a steel-locked door set into the mountainside, from which yet another of the identical soldiers was stepping forth.

This one was slightly different. The light shining from the room behind framed him in a glow of glory, but that was not it. There was something in the way he carried himself, a world-weary slackening of broad-shoulders. Or perhaps the slight extra weight he carried around his paunch. Or even the white mop of hair, rather than blonde, which flapped over the top of his tactical visor.

This man, it seemed was older. A leader. Someone who could make decisions. Someone worth talking to.

He spoke in the clipped tones of a soldier, brisk and to the point, but there was gravel in his voice. The gravel of an old man who has seen it all and lived to tell the tale. The gravel of someone who has fought for years, and will keep fighting no matter how bad the violence gets, until the day the last breath fails his lungs, for no other reason than it is the right thing to fight for.

'Now that you've killed most of my army,' he said simply, 'I suppose you'd better come inside. It seems we have a lot to talk about.' Then he sighed heavily and returned inside, leaving the door wide open.

The seven followed him in.


	12. Chapter 12

The old man said his name was 76.

'Seventy-six?' Tracy asked, trotting along behind him, still full of the adrenaline of victory. McCree and the others followed behind, wary of a trap. 'That's not much of a name.'

'I never had much of a name.' He replied, voice grim, but with no trace of remorse. He did not want their pity. 'I had a number. I was one of many. Now I'm one of few.'

They travelled deeper into the mountain, the _government facility_ , and noticed a few more of the identically dressed soldiers either sitting in offset rooms, nursing wounds, or rushing past perpendicular corridors. Each of them, without fail, was armed.

'What are ya, clones?' Junkrat asked.

The soldier grunted affirmation. 'I was in the first batch of a hundred. Saw all my brothers die. Thousands came after me, most of them are gone now too. You killed Soldier 2,337, 3,589, and 1,919 just a few moments ago. And a couple of others. We called Soldier 1,919 _Dome_ , because he was going bald. Only one of us who ever did. Some tremendous genetic fuckup, I guess. But that's all irrelevant.'

'What are you doing here?' Mercy asked.

'Defending ourselves.'

'Against enemies?'

'Against everyone. Since the Fallout everything ground to a halt. We were always good at following orders, and fighting of course, but not much else. So we have nothing to do but sit here and try to wait it out.'

It seemed that Soldier 76 was running a tight ship. They did not pass a single younger clone without a job; some were cleaning, others were cooking for the evening meal, many were stocking shelves, arming weapons, or moving large crates for a purpose McCree could not tell at a glance.

They finally reached a large mess hall, empty except for a TV running static and a silent radio. They were waiting, McCree realised. Waiting for new orders, for a new message, for a new anything. An update of some kind would be nothing short of a miracle. Soldier 76 came to an abrupt, disciplined stop, and the others filed in around him.

'I'm sorry we attacked you. It often takes us too long to realise that our enemies are alive, or don't mean us harm. We've killed a number of weary travellers that way, and although I do not punish my men for acting on their instincts I do regret the deaths of the innocents. I'm glad you seven are alive. But if you wish to stay here you will be expected to help.'

McCree watched the reactions of his six companions, people he knew so little, people he cared so little about, in all honesty. Tracy was the only one he felt a connection to. He would be happy to do what she decided. But Mercy and Reaper seemed to be moving with an agenda of their own, never quite one of the team. Junkrat and Road Hog, he knew, were joined at the hip, brothers-in-arms. Really McCree was the only odd man out. He felt suddenly very alone, and wondered if he could ever make a home for himself among these industrious clones.

Probably not, he realised. He would never be happy as one of many. He was an individual; once a leader of many, now a lone-wolf, never part of the crowd, never blending in.

'We haven't discussed that yet.' Mercy spoke for them all, as usual. 'But we would appreciate your hospitality for this evening, if you're offering it.'

Soldier 76 shrugged. 'Might as well. There are plenty of rooms. I noticed you have your own food and water in the Ute outside. We won't try and take that from you. But we won't be offering any of our own until you pledge yourselves to us. No hard feelings if you don't. Your welcome expires tomorrow morning at dawn, so choose wisely.'

'Much appreciated.' Mercy smiled warmly. Soldier 76 looked unimpressed, but led them to a set of rooms at the end of a corridor. There were eight rooms for them to share, all equally plain, with simple bedding and a set of drawers. Too much space. Too much comfort. None of them were used to it.

'I'll be posting a guard here.' The weary soldier informed them. I expect you will do the same. There is no trust between us. But it's a single corridor, easily defended if we were to attack you, which we won't, so I do encourage you to feel at ease and get the best night sleep you can.'

The party split up. McCree was looking for a room of his own when he felt a heavy hand fall upon his shoulder.

'You,' the soldier said, 'can come with me.'

McCree thought about arguing. How easy it would be to raise his Peacekeeper and shoot the old man. Or to kick him down and call for help. He had allies, didn't he?

But as he looked around he realised that no, he did not have allies. The men and women he had been travelling with were already moving into their rooms, not paying any attention to him. They did not care. He was just an extra, tagging along, not part of a pair. The seventh wheel. He turned back to Soldier 76.

'Sure.' He followed the other man back toward the mess hall.

…

'I recognise you, McCree.' The soldier said as they walked. Without the rest of the group stomping along the corridor was quiet, empty, and too wide and open for two men.

'Is that so?' He drawled in return.

'You were the leader of the Deadlock gang last time I checked. What happened to them?'

'They were disbanded.'

Soldier 76 stopped at a simple plastic table and sat. McCree took their chair opposite. A coffee was called for, and one of the younger clones – whom Soldier 76 addressed as soldier 9,812 – delivered it moments later. Soldier 76 sipped the dark, milk-less beverage.

'I hope you like it black.' He said. 'We ran out milk months ago. Sugar just last week. So tell me, why was the Deadlock gang disbanded?'

'Question for a question.' McCree bartered. And although the Soldier had no reason to make a deal, as he inequitably held the position of authority, the older man agreed.

'Very well, you first.'

'They were disbanded once, after I led them into a battle which we won, but at a great cost. None of them were happy with me. I was left behind when the remained of the gang moved on. They were disbanded a second time when Reaper and I killed them.'

'Reaper?'

'It's my turn to ask a question.'

Soldier 76 smiled. Though somewhere in his fifties he maintained boyish good locks beneath his tussled white hair. And his broad-shoulders spoke of great strength. He wore the same uniform as the younger men at his command, and McCree suspected that if he was wearing their tactical visor he would be almost indistinguishable.

'You're absolutely right. Go on.'

'How have you heard about me?'

'The special agent that used to be running this place had info on almost all the locals, especially the gangs. We had complete bios on every member of the Deadlock gang, most of the local Junkers, and a half dozen families in the area that survived the initial blast. I thought the Deadlock gang hated Junkers, but you seem to be travelling with one.'

McCree scowled. He had hated the Junkers with great passion for a while. Their scavenging ways had made things almost impossible for him to find safety and provisions for his own depending gang. They no longer filled him with rage, and in fact he felt almost entirely indifferent to Junkrat, but he had to concede that Soldier 76's Intel was, as a general rule, correct.

'This one isn't so unbearable.' McCree drawled. 'What's your question?'

'Who are the other members of your outfit, and how did they get past my defences so easily?'

McCree described them in shallow detail, not wanting to give so much away. He even gave a brief description of their attack, though he bitterly counted Soldier 76's enquiry as two questions. There was some that McCree did not know; he lacked specific information about how everyone had met, about what type of man Road Hog had been before the Fallout, or where Mercy and Reaper actually came from. He also had no idea why Mike – _Genji_ – had so many enemies, or why Tracy seemed able to flicker back and forth through time to avoid danger. But he did his best.

'Who is this special agent that ran the facility? And why haven't we met her yet?' McCree narrowed his eyes further, hoping to look imposing, but the world-weary 76 wasn't fazed – in fact he didn't seem to notice.

'That sounded like two questions.'

'So was your last.'

A pause while he considered this. 'Very well. Special Agent Amélie Lacroix was a French assassin. We don't know much about her, but she was sent here to overwatch this facility on behalf of an organisation.'

'What organisation?'

'Wait your turn.' Soldier 76 smiled ruefully. 'You haven't met her yet because she's almost dead. Last month she was captured by enemy agents, brutally tortured for three weeks, and returned to us just the other day. She's barely alive, and frankly she doesn't have long.'

McCree thought about the value of having a government agent to talk to, even one barely hanging on to life. There was so much he did not know. What had caused the Fallout? What had caused the dead to rise and hunger? Why were there so many robots built for destruction massacring their way across the country? And how the fuck could they stop it?

'I want to meet this government agent.'

'That's too bad. I'm not prepared to show her to you.'

'What if I had someone who could help with that? A very skilled healer.'

The old soldier narrowed his eyes sceptically. 'You wanna know why I asked you out here, McCree? Above all the others?'

'I assumed it was because of my affiliation with the Deadlock gang.'

'More than that. I don't really care about the gang, but I care about leaders. You, McCree, are a leader. So is that blonde woman, the one who was speaking for you all earlier. She is a natural under pressure. But more than that too, it's because I trust you. At least as much as I can trust a stranger.'

'Why the fuck would y'all trust me?'

'Because I understand you. You're a lone wolf, yes, but you're used to working in a pack. In fact I have an inkling that you're looking for a new pack, and you're probably thinking about adopting this bunch of misfits. But it's beside the point. Because I know what motivates you, what drives you, I can predict you. Those other six… I can't.'

'You don't know shit about me.'

'I don't know shit about Reaper. He wears a mask and I swear I heard his voice in my head earlier. I don't know if you heard it too, I couldn't tell. I don't know shit about the fat one either, because our agent never gathered any Intel on him before her disappearance. All I know about Junkrat is that he hates you, but I'm guessing anyone could have worked that out by looking at him. And the others… they're all wild cards.'

'I could probably help with that.'

'I'm betting on it.' Soldier 76 leaned forward, his movements denoting expectation and openness. 'But I'd rather count on it.'

'You can, but there are conditions.' McCree knew what was happening now. Soldier 76 was asking him to betray his friends. Or at least to give away their secrets – the few that he had been able to prise out of them. Perhaps it was because McCree stood out as a loner, perhaps he genuinely did come off as predictable. That was beside the point now. Soldier 76's honesty was his weakness; and now that McCree knew what the silver-haired soldier wanted, he had power over him.

'We can work on conditions later.' The Soldier bargained. 'Right now I need to know everything you do.'

'Right now I need to see your special agent.' McCree countered.

'My need is more pressing.'

'You said it yourself, she's at death's door. Let me heal her. Then we can talk again.'

Soldier 76 paused for a moment. He didn't seem to want to commit. But he could see that he had been backed into a corner, and at the moment their best policy was to work together.

'Fine,' he said, 'go get your healer. Then you can meet Lacroix.'

They stood to leave, and McCree had a passing thought.

'Strange that you should call her by her name. Don't most special agents have codenames or something?'

Soldier 76 led the way back to the dorms.

'They used to call her the Widow Maker. I'm sure you can figure out why on your own.'


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The old soldier led McCree and Mercy – after they had found her in the dorms – through the facility. It was not a short walk. In fact they seemed to travel the entire distance of the mountain, through narrow winding corridors and semi-collapsed dirt tunnels, before they reached a rusty steel door which was, apparently their destination.

Mercy was not impressed.

She had seen worse, of course. The last few months had shown her all manner of horrors, from the dead and dying to the vicious, uncompromising nature of the world itself. But there was a little something about this door that said it was part of that world; a world of worse things to come. Whatever it hid, Mercy decided, was nothing nice.

They entered after Soldier 76 unlocked a first door with an old fashioned key, then placed his palm on a very new looking keypad and unlocked a second. They descended a flight of stairs in a silence cold as death.

The bottom of the stairs opened onto a small room, surrounded in crates and dimly lit with a single flickering light like yellow piss. Barely enough room for a dozen people, shoulder to shoulder, to stand around what took most of the space in the centre of the room.

It was a cage, wrought iron, and the only thing that looked well-maintained in the dingy space. And within that cage, her arms shackled down, was a woman. The woman was thrashing left and right, foaming at the mouth, red-eyed and vicious. There was something in her dead-eyed stare that Mercy recognised. Apparently McCree recognised it too.

'She's not about to die,' the ranger drawled, 'she's dead. Turned. One of _them.'_

Soldier 76 grimaced, and nodded. 'Yeah. You're right.'

'Then why'd you bring us down here?'

The soldier turned to Mercy, the faintest glimmer of hope in his weary eyes. But Mercy was staring at the woman in the cage with pity, nothing else. She could heal almost anything, if she reached it in time. That was part of her _gift._ But she could not bring people back. She could not restore their souls. Not after they were turned into these monsters. Or at least she never had before.

'I'm sorry,' she said aloud. 'There's nothing I can do for…'

'That's shit.' A voice sounded in her mind and she turned. Following them down the stairs at a leisurely pace was Reaper, his face hidden by the alabaster skull-mask. 'You could bring her back if you wanted to.'

Mercy knew what he was referring to. She truly was an angel, and angels had been known to return people from the dead before. She'd even done something similar to Reaper when she first arrived on Earth. But this was different. She had a different purpose now, had been sent here with a specific mission. Bringing people back from the dead was not something she had the power to do.

'You know I can't.'

'I know you can.' Reaper responded. 'And I'll help you.'

He was going to help? Mercy was astounded. They had been working together for weeks now, forming some kind of uneasy partnership of necessity. And yet they had never really worked together. Not on something like this, at any rate.

'How?' Her voice was low now.

'You heal. I'll locate the soul.'

'What's he saying?' McCree asked, looking annoyed. Only then did Mercy realise that the conversation had occurred within her own mind. That was one skill of Reaper's that was exceptionally useful.

'He's saying we can do it, if we work together. But it won't be easy.'

Soldier 76's old face was clenched with wrinkles. He looked ready to throw Reaper out of the room, but his interest had been piqued now.

'Are you sure?'

'We'll do our best.'

'Please do. She's a hero.'

Mercy smiled as compassionately as she could. 'Heroes never die.'

With a quick nod to Reaper she turned her attention back to the cage. Widowmaker – Lacroix – thrashed animalistically, beyond control, beyond reason. But Mercy extended her staff anyway, and the golden glow filled the air between them, an ethereal river of healing energy that connected the two, bound them. The bond was just as strong as if they had been clasping forearms. Stronger, perhaps. Mercy could feel herself becoming tied to Widowmaker.

'Are you ready?' She said aloud.

Reaper said nothing. They delved into the space between life and death together, let the halfway world wash over them and drown them. And Reaper searched.

Amélie Lacroix had died in the cage, that much was certain. No doubt she'd been dying when Soldier 76 found her. Or perhaps before that, when she had been captured and held and tortured for three weeks. Mercy knew something of the history. McCree had passed on what he knew when he visited her in the dorms, and convinced her to come along.

If she had not died in the cage their plan might never have worked.

That was the thing about the dead, Mercy reflected. Their souls were supposed to flee the Earth, go to heaven or hell, far from their mortal bodies. Only that brought a human life to peace, and allowed the circle to continue. But the cycle had been broken. She did not know how. That was her mission to find out.

It was Reaper's mission, too. That was how they had met. If anyone could reach the bottom of the mystery, it was an angel and a… well, whatever he was.

Reaper found Widowmaker's soul. As expected it had lingered near her mortal body, as restless as physical form which even now was fighting to free itself. And he pulled it back into her. The fresh corpse, standing and glaring and spitting, suddenly stopped moving.

Mercy, who had been throwing all her energy and power into the transference, took a deep breath. It was no simple thing to return a body to life. She had had to repair tissue, cells, bones, and all types of matter back to life. She had repaired synapses and pumped air into the brain and heart and lungs. Thankfully – yet another lucky occurrence – the body had not been dead for long.

Widowmaker was still for a moment. Mercy allowed herself to relax, pulled her consciousness back into her own body, and released the bond between herself and the dead girl. They waited with baited breath.

Miraculously, it had worked.

The Widowmaker took a deep, gasping breath, and looked around. For the first time now Mercy could look at her properly. She was a striking woman, with a sharp chin and sultry, flashing eyes. Her lithe figure was hardly covered at all in a lycra suit that had probably once acted as an insulator between armour and flesh. A little colour returned, but not much. Widowmaker remained an unhealthy blue tinge to her skin. The pale blue of a fresh, cold cadaver.

'Where am I?' She asked.

Soldier 76 waved a hand. 'You're dismissed, all of you. Special agent Lacroix and I have a lot to discuss.' He gave one last look to Mercy. 'Is she… ok to release?'

'Give her a few minutes,' Mercy suggested, 'and if she's still clear and coherent you can let her out.'

'Understood.' Soldier 76 nodded briskly, and turned his attention back to the woman in the cage. Taking their cue to leave, Mercy led Reaper and McCree out of the dark stairwell and back into the dirty corridor above. They were unescorted now. There were more soldiers rushing around, of course, but they seemed to take little notice of the three strangers.

Before heading back to the dorms McCree had questions. He pulled Reaper and Mercy into a nearby service room, abandoned other than two small clone children playing with toy trains, and hissed under his breath.

'What the _fuck_ was that?'

Reaper said nothing. Mercy understood that it was her place to provide the answers. Though it strained against her better judgement she decided that McCree did deserve some honesty. So she told him.

'I'm an angel. I was sent to Earth to discover why bodies are no longer dying. Why the dead rise and walk again. And Reaper… Well, he's the opposite.'

McCree looked over at Reaper, silent as a grave in his long black coat. 'What do you mean _the opposite_?'

Mercy shrugged. 'He's Death.'

It took a while before McCree spoke again. Or at least it felt like a while, though in reality it was only a few moments. His mouth hung agape as he looked back and forth between the two.

'Really? Fuckin' really? That's the story you expect me to believe?'

'It does not affect me whether you believe it or not. I'm sure Reaper feels the same.'

McCree looked astounded. 'I don't… this is unbelievable. I mean, I knew you two were strange. You're the only pair with these god damn abilities I've met yet… But I didn't expect this!'

Reaper spoke for the first time, his deep voice thrumming in the bone of McCree and Mercy's skulls.

'If it doesn't make sense you can leave. Otherwise accept it and move on. This is the way it is.'

McCree looked like he wanted to argue that, but then wisely shut his mouth. 'Alright, fine. Devil and an angel, hand in hand, joker and the fuckin' thief. What next?'

A siren sounded, as if on cue. McCree looked up, and his broad hat almost fell back from his head. He scratched his stubble.

'What the…'

A number of clone soldiers ran past the door, pulling their visors down over their faces and reloading their rifles. They looked ready for a war. Well, most of them did. Some had their arms in slings, eye patches covering half their face, or were missing limbs and had cheap replacements strapped on. Mercy felt a swell of pity for them. Given more time and she might have been able to help a few of them.

McCree stepped out the doorway and into the corridor. The tide of soldiers passed around him, and did not stop. It was Soldier 76 who finally grabbed McCree by the arm and dragged him back into the service room. Behind him, tall and calm, strode a graceful Widowmaker with blue skin and a custom-looking rifle by her waist. She looked deadly… and cold.

'What's happening?' Mercy asked.

'We're under attack. We're always fucking under attack.'

'It's bad?'

'The worst. We normally don't bother with the alarm sirens, so this must be a big one.'

'What does that mean?'

Soldier 76 stared at Mercy. 'It means there's a slim chance we're getting out of here alive. Go get your men and women. We could use all the help we can get.'

'Some of them are injured.' Mercy protested. 'And the others aren't trained. Tracy looks like she's barely out of her teens, and…'

Soldier 76 whirled and plucked a tiny child, perhaps eleven, from the crowd of rushing men and women. Mercy recognised the child as a clone. She wondered if the women were clones too, or volunteers of a sort. It did not seem like the time to ask.

'We're all soldiers here.' He growled, fury latent in his voice. 'Go get your team and meet me by the front door. I want to be ready when they start knocking, whoever _they_ fucking are.'

The tunnels shook. Splinters of rock and dirt fell from the reinforced roof, and it was clear that this facility had been under attack before. The mountain was shaking. Only then did Mercy really realise the gravity of the situation. They weren't just under attack from a small scouting party of undead, or half a dozen vengeance driven robots. Nothing like that could shake a mountain. No, this was the work of heavy artillery. That meant they were being attacked by someone – some _thing_ – with vehicles, and heavy weapons, and bombardments. Someone with money and technology. Actual, living humans.

But what could possibly bring humans to this part of outback America with such offensive interests?

It came to her before she had time to berate herself for not realising it sooner.

Genji's brother. Just like the Japanese scouts had said, the main force had not given up.

And now they were here.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

By the time Mercy reached the dormitories most of her team were already gone. _Her team_. She realised the slip, and was glad she hadn't said it out loud. They weren't her team. They were all individuals. She had every intention to recruit them to her purpose but until she found the time to explain herself…

'What now?' McCree asked. He was standing behind her, his antique six-shooter in hand, waiting for orders. That was the good thing about McCree. He might be a lone wolf but he seemed to have no trouble deferring to others when they knew best. Now, for example.

Mercy looked around again, taking inventory. There was almost nothing left in the bare dormitories – steel-framed beds with lumpy old mattresses, puddles of water at the base of the showers, and dirt scuffed floors – but no sign of clothing or supplies. That meant the others had not simply gone to fight, they were intending to leave for good. She looked around for Reaper. He had already gone his own way, possibly following Soldier 76 and Widowmaker to the fight. Genji's brother was leading a force to attack them. The mountain facility needed to be defended.

'Mercy?' McCree repeated.

'Sorry.' She looked around, one last time. Road Hog, Junkrat, Tracy, Genji. Where had they gone? They were prepared to fight, yes, but she had the feeling they would be fleeing the battle. They were a team now. They had each other. Better to live another day than survive heroically.

'Pack your things.' Mercy said, gesturing to McCree's meagre belongings, which lay where he had left them on the bed. 'We'll leave in a moment. I'll see if I can find which way the others went.'

McCree went to his own room. Mercy turned, and followed the sounds of combat as best she could, heading in the direction of the front entrance. The walls shook with the strain of war, dirt and dust cascaded from the roof in little defiant streams.

When she reached the front doorway she was shocked.

The wall of the mountain had been raised. It was not solid rock, as she had originally thought, rather heavy concrete blast doors disguised as mountainside. Rather than fighting their way through a small doorway the battlefield was broad and open, flashing lasers and old-fashioned rifle bullets zig-zagged through open air, explosions rocking the earth, a sheet of smoke descending on the combatants. Clones in their uniforms fell at an alarming rate, women and children along with the men. Opposite them, through the haze, Mercy could just make out enemy forces with advanced weaponry charging forward.

Pushing through the opened blast doors was a tank belonging to Soldier 76 and his clones. The long canon-head swivelled left and right, firing at regular intervals, demolishing enemy vehicles or clumps of attackers whenever possible. At least until a missile shot from beyond entered the cavern and blew it apart.

Mercy stood back. If she had the time, the opportunity, she was sure she could help many of these people. She could see them now, with their missing limbs and burnt skin, their damaged eyes and ears, their bleeding and broken bones. She could help them. Save them from early death. Save them from rising again as the undead.

But there was no chance. No opportunity. Genji's brother and his forces were almost through. A few more minutes and the fight would be over.

She saw Soldier 76 at that point. He leapt over a barricade with surprising grace for an old man, his heavy boots slamming into mud without pause. The missile from his rifle pierced through the air and exploded against a faceless enemy, blasting them into chunks of meat. His rifle pounded, and enemies fell before him. His clones rallied around his impressive display, but they fell as they tried to reach him. The enemy fire was too dense. Soldier 76 retreated almost as soon as he advanced.

The Widowmaker was next. Mercy spotted the French woman as she clambered over the ruins of the tank and, hiding in the smog of its death, she fired shot after shot into the ranks of the enemies. Her long range attacks never missed their mark. A dozen foes fell before she stopped to reload, and that was when it got interesting. Widowmaker removed the extension from her sniper rifle so that it resembled a more standard gun, raised her left wrist, and fired a harpoon into the mouth of the cavern. The rope pulled her upwards and she dangled their by her left arm, firing maniacally into the enemy, spraying shots.

It was several moments before they spotted her hanging cocoon-like from the roof. She released herself, dropping and rolling to the ground without harm, and the clones rushed forward to protect her retreat.

Genji's brother's men were almost upon them now. Mercy, who had been standing at the rear of the battle, was not almost on the front line though she hadn't taken a step. Clones surrounded her, pushed past, and then, on 76's orders, they grabbed her arms and pulled her back.

The old Soldier passed by her as they fell back, and spoke in his gritty voice. 'If you're not going to fight, stay back.'

Mercy, almost too stunned to even respond, obliged.

She still had not caught a good look at the enemy. Nor had she been able to make out Genji's brother within the fray. But he must be there.

She turned to fall back with 76 and his army, and ran straight into Road Hog's barrel chest. The enormous man looked down at her, his gas mask over his face, gun in hand. But the gun was altered somehow. It looked longer, as if he had added an extension. And at its side was a handle.

'Hand held turret.' Road Hog grunted. 'Wind it up and spray.'

Mercy did not understand what he meant. Was he talking about the gun?

She found out moments later when the last of the clones retreated and the first of the Japanese invaders entered the facility. They rushed down the corridor, all dressed in red and white combat uniforms – patriotic but ineffective for camouflage – and all carrying guns of a kind. Most of them wore masks, but all had a mop of black hair above their eyes, a fairly even mixture of men and women.

Road Hog began to turn the handle with his right hand, holding the gun as closely as he could with the left and, as promised, an onslaught of bullets spat forward with such force that the first few enemies in front of him were not just killed, but thrown backwards. Those behind were somehow more fortunate. They were killed instantly, torn to shreds by the barrage of horizontal hail, a storm of bullets that no man could stand against.

'Road Hog, that was…' Mercy fumbled for words.

'I call it the _Whole Hog_.' He replied, looking remarkably self-satisfied as he lowered the weapon and removed the extension.

Mercy and Road Hog fell back now, following the clones back through the corridors yet again. It seemed that no choke point could be held for long, no matter how narrow it was. The cavern was wide, and there were many entrance points. Even if Road Hog had been able to turn his one-man-turret all afternoon the enemy would have flanked him within minutes.

The tide of retreating clones thinned as the fight wore on. It took Mercy a while to realise that, at every bend in the path, a few would stay behind to slow the enemy.

Soldier 76 looked flustered when they eventually caught up with him. He was in a command centre, Special Agent Lacroix by his side, standing straight and cold with her pale blue skin. 76 did not look out of breath – Mercy wondered if he even could look out of breath – but he did look frustrated.

'They're everywhere.' He gestured to a map on the wall, a spider web like blueprint of the insides of the facility, a labyrinth of tunnels and pathways. 'They've taken half the facility already. After we lost the main entrance…' He trailed off, disgusted at his own failure.

Widowmaker took over, her voice clipped with the accent of the Parisians. 'Your friend _le Reaper_ is defending the Northern wing with our troops, but they will not last much longer. We do not know where the rest of your friends are.'

'Neither do we.' Mercy sighed. She extended her staff and looked around at the wounded and weary sharing seats in the command centre. She began to heal.

'We thank you for your assistance.' Widowmaker continued, now speaking to Road Hog. 'But you should leave. We will not fight much longer.'

'If I wanted to leave I'd've done it with the rest.' Road Hog grunted. 'But I didn't.'

Mercy wondered why not. She thought, almost unconsciously, that it was perhaps because of her. He seemed fond of her – Reaper too – like friends, but also as more than friends. Parents. Guardians. Road Hog did not seem confident or mature enough to stand alone, and he liked the security that being with Reaper and Mercy provided. It was a humorous thought. Mercy was making her plans up as she went along just like everyone else.

'Where to from here?' she asked, repairing a broken arm.

'There are only about two dozen clones left.' Soldier 76 sighed. 'The women and children are evacuating now – those that haven't died defending the facility already. Anyone still alive will be able to hide in the catacombs below the facility. The doors can be sealed, and there's enough food and water to last a long time. But the rest of us…'

'We need to buy them time.' Mercy guessed.

'Oui.' Widowmaker nodded. 'More importantly, we need to reach this point.' She gestured to the map. 'It is the only remaining escape route.'

The gunfire was closer now. Road Hog leaned out the door and fired his chain. From here, standing behind him, Mercy heard the whoosh of air as it was ejected. She did not see the result, but she heard a man's death cry, and guessed that Road Hog's hook had pierced the heart of an oncoming enemy.

When she turned back Soldier 76 and Widowmaker were the only two still in the room. The other soldiers had moved on. 76 reloaded and lowered his tactical visor over his eyes.

'Find your friends,' he said, 'we'll meet you at the escape point.'

Mercy nodded, and dragged Road Hog by the arm away from the room. He followed reluctantly, walking backwards, firing at any enemy that dared to show their face.

'Where did you last see the others?' she asked.

Two foes rounded the corner, firing with pistols. Road Hog took a shot to the chest, and immediately responded by firing his hook. The attempt was almost too low – it skipped off the floor and caught the man around the enemy, dragged him back. Road Hog stepped down, pressing his full weight upon the fallen man, and crushed him. Mercy extended her wings and dashed forward to cut the second man down with her staff. Then she returned, and healed Hog's wound.

'Tracy and Genji left an hour ago, almost straight after we got here.' He said. 'You must've missed them.'

'I must have.' Mercy agreed, wondering how she had let that happen.

'McCree was with you, I think, talking to Soldier. Reaper snuck off, but I don't know when. And Junkrat…'

'Yes?'

'He stayed behind.' Road Hog's loyalty to the Junker was causing him to fumble his words. Whatever Junkrat had been doing it was not something good. She was thankful to Road Hog for coming to their aid, but she almost wished he had stayed to watch over the eccentric skinny man a little longer. Who knew what he was up to now?!

'Where is he, Road Hog?' Mercy asked. She layered the mothering tone on thick. It worked.

'He was setting a trap.' Road Hog admitted. 'He's planning to kill McCree.'

Mercy paled, and changed direction. She had to get to the dormitories before she lost one of her most valued warriors or, even worse, two of them.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Mercy was half running, half flying when she entered the corridor that led to the dormitories. She skidded to a halt when she saw him, standing in front of her, a maniacal grin stretching his skinny face, wild hair dancing like flames on the top of his head.

'What have you done?' She asked, almost breathless. Road Hog, panting, approached from behind.

Junkrat pulled the trigger again, and again, and again, and Mercy watched as grenade after grenade after grenade bounced into McCree's dorm. And then, with a brief break between each detonation, the grenades exploded. The room shook, flames blossomed, and Mercy took a step back. This was the face of madness.

'He's in there.' Junkrat said, grinning, as if this was an explanation. 'He's in there. I heard it snap, and then I started firing. He's dead. A thousand times dead. And it's me what killed him, for the good of us all. Oh, fuck, yes, this is a damn good feeling.'

Mercy's eyes widened. 'Heard what snap?'

'The bear trap I threw on the ground. Threw a sheet over it so he wouldn't notice it before it was too late.' Junkrat was gleeful. 'And once I heard it snap I bombarded him.'

The grenade launcher ran dry. Junkrat reloaded, no rush, and fired again for good measure. Road Hog had caught up now. The fat man stood behind Mercy, breathing heavily, and was staring at Junkrat. He did not look surprised. The expression on his face was hard to read, but…

Mercy started forward. 'Step aside, Rat. If there's anything left of him I will try to…'

Junkrat planted his feet in her path. 'No. You. Fucking. Won't.'

Her patience ran out, and when she spoke again it was with the righteous fury of an angel of war. Her wings spread wide, so that she looked three times larger, her eyes flashed, and her halo bloomed with a glorious, golden glow. Even her voice seemed magnified, and full of fury.

' _Junkrat, you will remove yourself from my path, or I will…'_

He seemed cowed, but not completely broken. He took a half step back, but held her terrible gaze. She flicked him aside with one wing, almost effortlessly, and when he ran up to hold her back she swatted him with her staff. The Junker dropped to his one good knee and this time it was Road Hog who lay a heavy hand on his shoulder. Mercy continued into the room unopposed.

There was nothing left of it. The mattress had been torn apart, only a few feathers fluttered through the smoky air. The steel frame of the bed was mangled, though not quite unrecognisable, and the meagre wardrobe was splinters on the ground. Dotting the walls, and the floor, and the roof, like a polka-dot battle field, were dark marks splayed like fireworks. Black stars, signalling the impact points of blossoming grenades. The shadows of an explosion, the shadows of death.

'My God…' Mercy breathed.

Only McCree's hat remained, a few pieces of leather held together in a vague shape, and a sheriff's badge that was too hot to pick up with bare hands.

Junkrat and Road Hog entered the room. Junkrat laughed some more. 'And that,' he said, 'is that.'

Mercy almost killed him on the spot. There were too many real enemies in the world to be fighting each other. Junkrat and McCree might hate each other, they might have caused death and tragedy for each other in the past, but that was no excuse. The future was dark, churning, waiting for a single misstep to tear them all apart, and they needed to be a _team_ if they were going to see it through.

But in the end she let him live. She could not remember who had given her the name Mercy, but, for the first time in a long time, she felt it fit very well.

Mercy had memorised as much of the map as she could when she and Road Hog visited the command centre with Soldier 76, so she led the others. Road Hog's heavy footsteps and Junkrat's clanking false leg were of little comfort behind her. In fact some part of her wished to leave them behind. It would be some time before she forgave Junkrat for what he'd done.

But there was nothing else for it. She had to get to the rendezvous point as soon as possible. Soldier 76 and Widowmaker said they had a way out, and Mercy didn't want to miss it. She could not hide in the catacombs with the women and children. She had a duty.

'Look, Mercy, it had to be done.' Junkrat had calmed now, the ecstasy of fire and violence sapped from him. 'McCree killed everyone I knew 'n' loved. I had to kill him, and there's nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.'

She said nothing. She did not want to convince him. She did not to listen to him or speak to him at all. Still he bargained with her, pleading for forgiveness in not-so-subtle ways. They turned yet another corner in the labyrinthine warren and…

'Stop!'

Mercy stopped immediately. Road Hog and Junkrat did the same. The big man turned to watch their backs as Rat raised his weapon toward the voice.

'Stand down.' She pushed a firm hand on Junkrat's launcher. 'I know that voice.'

It was Widowmaker, her distinctive French accent impossible to misplace. The blue-skinned Special Agent leaned from around a pile of crates only a few meters further up the corridor.

'Before you step any further, beware of le venom mines.' Widowmaker pointed them out – blue, beetle-like mines no larger than Mercy's hand, which were tacked to the walls on either side. Mercy would not have noticed them.

'How do we get past?'

'Walk slowly. One at a time.'

They began. The sounds of gunfire in the distance were picking up, rising in volume. Mercy panicked slightly. She did not want to rush, but she could not afford to dawdle either. Another minute, maybe two, and the Japanese army would be hurrying down this corridor wiping out everything in their path.

'Go, woman!' Junkrat yelled.

Road Hog, still watching their backs, fired at the first of the enemies to enter his line of sight. The man's head was blown off. That would, Mercy hoped, buy them another moment.

Once she was certain she was behind the line of danger she joined Widowmaker behind the dormant crates. When she turned Junkrat was already halfway across, moving sideways with his arms spread out, taking quick shallow breaths, as if the extra inch of lung expansion might be all that stood between life and death.

He looked absurd, like a tight-rope walker balancing for dear life on a wide-bridge, but Mercy assumed she had looked more or less the same, and did not begrudge his caution.

Finally the Junker was through. Road Hog, with tremendous care, began to follow. He was walking backwards, his broad belly filling up a great deal more of the corridor than anyone else had.

'Is he too wide?' Mercy missed.

Widowmaker was lying flat on the top of the tallest crate, her sniper in the crook of her arm ready to fire. 'Maybe.' She said, and did not bother to expand.

A step. Another. So ginger, so delicate. Road Hog was somewhere between an elephant and a ballerina. The image almost made Mercy laugh, but the situation was too real. Those venom mines on the walls were unfamiliar, but the name suggested they would deal lethal poison, and frankly Mercy wasn't sure her healing powers could protect against something like that.

A shot rang out – it was Lacroix. The Special Agent had fired over Road Hog's shoulder and wiped out the nearest pursuing enemy. Road Hog, inching backwards, would not have reacted in time to save himself. Mercy wondered if his shot gun would even be effective at that range.

Widowmaker stood. 'Come. From here we can…'

A third enemy rounded the corner behind them. Widowmaker started to raise her gun as Junkrat lobbed a grenade. Mercy looked for her own pistol, but all three of them were too slow. It was Road Hog, yet again, who saved his own skin.

His hook covered the distance in a flash, and latched onto the front of the enemy. They came soaring back toward Road Hog, but were not taken by surprise. A heavy boot kicked against Road Hog and he stumbled backwards as the soldier ripped the hook from the chest plate of his battle armour.

'Look out!' Mercy cried, because she did not know what to do. At the end of the corridor Junkrat's grenade exploded against nothing.

Road Hog stood at his full height now and, though he was unarmoured, and in fact barely wearing anything over his spherical chest, he was just as imposing as his opposition. They each threw a punch, and each took it on the chin, before closing the gap to wrestle with each other.

Widowmaker waited for a clear shot, but there wasn't one. Road Hog was too big. It was impossible to see the enemy behind him as they fought.

And then it was over. Road Hog, in a display of intelligence and tremendous might, threw his foe back into Widowmaker's venom mine and it went off with a bang of green smog. A cough, a dozen splutters, and the man died, choking on the gas.

Road Hog turned to the other three, a light sheen of sweat covering him, though from the stressful walk through the mines or his brief fight she could not tell.

'Right,' he grunted, 'where to now?'

Widowmaker led the way from there, her incredibly slender figure dashing along in front of them. Mercy could not help but notice the sensual sway of Widowmaker's hips, and wondered despite herself if it was a product of her starvation in death, or if the French woman had always kept herself in such good shape. A long, dark ponytail flicked on her back like the tail of an elegant, trotting horse.

'Thank you.' Widowmaker said, without turning.

'For what?'

'For bringing me… back.'

Mercy didn't know what to say to that. It seemed Widowmaker didn't either. The next two corridors were passed in relative silence, save the padding of feet and reloading of Road Hog's shotgun.

'I don't know where I was,' Widowmaker said, haltingly. 'I don't know if I was anywhere. But I wasn't here. I was… dead. I know that much. 76 told me, and I trust him more than I trust anyone else. We've known each other most of our adult lives.' She trailed off, as if she had forgotten her point. 'Anyway, thank you.'

'Don't mention it.' Mercy replied. 'Soldier 76 believes you are a good person, and he doesn't seem like the type to lie. We need all the good people we can get.'

'I'm not sure what I am anymore.'

There was something in Widowmaker's voice that Mercy couldn't pick, but she didn't have time to ask about it. They had reached the rendezvous point now, and it looked as though everyone was already there. Reaper stood side by side with Soldier 76, and three more clones flanked them. No sign of Genji, or Tracy, the only consolation was that Mercy knew they could take care of themselves. No sign of McCree either, but Mercy knew where he was. Or at least where his remains were.

Soldier 76 looked grim as he surveyed them.

'Where is…'

'There's no time.' Mercy held up a hand. Gunfire behind them was pressing ever closer. The Japanese squad would be almost finished flushing out the facility by now.

Soldier 76 nodded and pushed on the door behind him. Brilliant sunlight flared through. It was surprising how astonishing the light of the sun was after only an hour or so underground. Mercy was grateful for it. She preferred the light of day – yet another difference between herself and Reaper.

She looked over at Reaper, her supposed partner, and though he stood quiet and tall she could not help but notice the deferential respect he was offered by the clones that stood around him. They had seen him in action, she realised, and they were impressed. Reaper did tend to have that effect on people.

'Right, this way then.' Soldier 76 led them through the door. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust, but not long. They looked up.

An enormous flying warship had parked itself on this side of the mountain. Loading ramps were extended, and a dozen vehicles were rolling out to prepare for battle, either with mounted turrets or armed passengers. This was the rest of the Japanese force. Those inside the facility were only half. Mercy almost swore. There was nothing they could do now. In a moment they would be spotted, and then…

An arrow arced out of the unbroken blue sky. It had passed through the heart of one of the clones and impaled him to the sandy earth almost before Mercy even noticed the dark streak in the clean brightness of day. She shouted out and the others moved back just as a second arrow slammed into the dirt.

In the distance, silhouetted against the shining sun, stood a handsome, muscled man wrapped in a toga and pants, a long bow in his hands and dark hair batting at his forehead. Across his chest was a strap that held his quiver to his back, and Mercy could just discern his goatee. When he turned to aim and fire again, the light shifted, and she caught a glimpse of the dark tattoo that covered his arm. It was tribal, but also mystic; violent and serene. She wondered what it meant.

She was still wondering when the arrow pierced her, and her vision went black.

Her last thought was that this must be, _must be,_ Genji's brother.

Hanzo Shimada.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Genji and Tracy left the rest of the group as soon as the opportunity arose. They did not trust the facility, and had no intention of staying around. Especially not with Genji's brother so close behind.

Hanzo. Tracy had heard enough about Hanzo to know he was bad news. At least, for Genji. A furious warrior blessed with great intelligence, strength, and spiritual wellbeing, he was in tune with Genji's father in a way that Genji had never been.

She watched Genji as they ran. He was silent, his eyes far away. She knew what he was thinking about.

He held up a hand and stopped near a corner, leaning back. 'More clones, just around here.' He whispered. Tracy nodded.

'Let me take care of it.'

'No, we should…'

Tracy shook her head. 'Genji, please, trust me on this one. I don't want to hurt these men, and I will be a much better distraction.'

Genji did not look pleased about it, but he finally gave in with a nod. Tracy moved swiftly.

She ran ahead, almost knocking one of the guards down, and ignored their cries of protest as she continued. She hoped that Genji would be using her distraction. She only had a few seconds, and that was if she could use her ability the way she wanted to…

As she passed the next corner, with two guards still in pursuit, she allowed herself to slip out of time once more and suddenly she was back by Genji's side, standing in almost the exact spot she had been a few seconds ago. He blinked and looked at her, stunned into silence.

'It's true,' he said. 'It's all true.'

'I told you.' She snapped. They ran down the corridor. Tracy looked left and saw the backs of the two soldiers she had lured away. They were scratching their heads, wondering how she could have disappeared the instant she turned the corner.

'So what is the plan?' Tracy asked. 'If we do escape this place – and it's a big _if –_ we'll be stuck in the middle of a desert with no food or water surrounded by enemies.'

'It's not like we haven't been in that situation before.' He countered.

Well, he was right.

'This is different though.' Tracy said. 'Your brother is out there and he…'

Genji narrowed his eyes at her as he walked. There was something in his bunched shoulders that made it look as if he wanted to stop and snap at her, but they didn't have the time. So he settled for some harsh words.

'I know what my brother will do if he finds me. Let me worry about that. If you can't handle the pressure you should have stayed back with the others like I suggested.'

Tracy scowled. There were lots of things she wanted to say back to him, but decided against it. Genji was right, in his own way. They had to be tough, and they had to stick together, or else they might as well give up now.

The nearest exit was far from the dorm rooms that Tracy, Genji and the others had been assigned. They opened the door and were flooded with light, stepping through with their hands above their squinting eyes. Genji gasped, lowering his hand.

'Oh, shit.' He said. 'We're too late.'

Tracy lowered her goggles over her eyes, they helped considerably against the glaring sun. They had been useful in many situations actually, since the rational world ended. She was going to ask Genji what he had seen but there was no point. As soon as she looked up it was clear.

Two enormous flying warships were bearing down on them. Both were of Japanese design, and Tracy wondered momentarily how it was that Japan had managed to maintain so much of their technology and power in the wake of the Fallout. Hopefully that answer would come in time, but it wasn't a pressing issue. These warships were not friendly.

The pair ducked down, but they needn't have bothered. The two warships were not looking for two speck-sized humans on the plateau below. The first of them rounded the mountain and landed outside the front of the facility, where it began to unload weapons, vehicles, and mounted turrets. The second, much more slowly, began to land near the exits, not far from where Tracy and Genji were waiting. It was a trap, Tracy realised. Anyone who survived the initial fight would aim to flee through the mountain and out the other side, where they would meet the second Japanese force. Undoubtedly the bigger force. A pincer move.

The second warship lowered its loading ramp, and a dozen smaller vehicles hovered out.

'We should fight them.' Genji said, steel in his voice.

'That's a ridiculous idea.' Tracy snapped. 'There are probably hundreds of them, and we…'

They didn't have time to discuss the point further. Five of the hover cars were racing towards them, the sun glinting like camera flashes from their sleek bodies. They had been spotted.

Tracy considered going back inside the facility, but it seemed like a pointless exercise. The enemy would be behind them as well as in front soon enough, and besides their enemies were close enough to shoot them down now. If Tracy turned her back she had no doubt they would take that opportunity. Besides, Genji still stood, back straight and arms folded, waiting for the enemy to come.

The five bikes circled around them. Hanzo and his squad stepped off.

She knew it was Hanzo immediately. The muscled physique, dark eyes, long hair, tattooed arm, and of course the enormous bow and arrow he carried. He looked like a warrior in every sense of the word, and yet there was an air of calm spirituality to him as well. His family's clan, which Genji had loosely translated as _the Emperor's Dragons,_ were no doubt fond of their oldest son. The way Genji told the story they were much less fond of the younger.

'Brother.' Hanzo said, walking closer, unafraid. 'You have led me on quite a chase. I am not amused.'

It was clear that he was very unamused. The grim expression on Hanzo's face was somewhere between annoyance, exasperation, and furious.

'Hand over the blade.' He said. 'If I can return with the weapon I can leave you here in peace. But I cannot leave without the weapon.'

'That won't happen.' Genji scowled.

'Believe what you want. We both know the truth of the matter. Because no matter how angry father is with you he will always care more about that katana.'

Tracy noticed the wincing expression on Genji's face, but hoped for the sake of his pride that none of the Japanese hit-men and women did. Genji was young to be an outcast. And in these days, these horrific times, being an outcast from your family was a fate worse than death. Most people were lucky to even have a family.

'Let her go.' Genji said, with something like bravery. 'She doesn't need to be a part of this.'

'Everyone does.' Hanzo shrugged. 'I'll kill every living man, woman and child in this facility until that sword is in my hand. My people are attacking the main entrance now, and they will break through fairly quickly, of that I have no doubt. We know all about this place. It's weaknesses…'

'How?'

'Father helped design it.' Hanzo's bearded face twisted into something of a smile, and he flicked a long strand of hair away from his face. 'There is a lot you don't know about what father did before the Fallout. But let me just say you are on the wrong side of the war.'

Tracy gulped. This was more than a brotherly rival now, this was an answer. The answer to the only question anyone wanted answered. What had happened to the world that could have led to this? Why were the dead rising, and why were there armies of robots hunting the survivors? What was the army of clones for? What had Genji and his family had to do with it?

Genji, she realised, had no clue.

'Wrong side of the war?' He exclaimed. 'The war is over. This is just what's left!'

'No.' Hanzo shook his head, reaching for the katana by Genji's side. 'The war is about to begin.'

Genji drew the weapon and took up a fighter's stance. All eyes were on him now. Hanzo sighed with anticlimactic weariness, and drew his bow. The two faced each other.

'Is this really what you want?' The older asked.

Genji was breathing heavily, eyes narrowed, knuckles white around the hilt of his sword. He did not answer, so Tracy did it for him, not prepared to remain a bystander any longer.

She drew her twin pulse pistols and fired one shot at Hanzo, the other at one of the soldiers surrounding them. Hanzo dodged, but the other soldier had not been paying attention, and was hit immediately in the chest. She took three steps forward and jumped ahead in time, so that she slipped from the ring of enemies, and shot two more in the back before she returned to her previous position.

The Japanese soldiers were, understandably, confused. The majority of them had now turned their attention to Tracy, and were doing their best to track her erratic movements through space.

This allowed Genji and Hanzo to concentrate on each other.

She watched the brothers as she darted in and out of her enemies, harassing them, keeping their attention focused. Genji struck first, which she might have predicted, opting for a quick, low slash with the katana. Hanzo stepped calmly to one side, and rapped Genji across the side of the head with his bow. Genji swiped left and right, keeping his momentum, but the older simply took another two steps backwards and repeated his admonishing temple tap.

'I'm sorry little brother,' the elder said, 'but you will not win this fight. The sword has not chosen you.'

'It has not chosen you either.' Genji spat back.

'That may be. But I will take it all the same.'

They exchanged blows. Genji came close to landing one, but Hanzo deflected it with the leather wrapped grip of the bow. Another flurry of blows ended in similar fashion, this time with Hanzo using the untied string of his weapon to trip Genji to the ground.

The older brother took one of the arrows from his sheath and flung it at the ground, where it impaled itself beside Genji's head. The younger brother looked up, eyes wide.

'I could have killed you a dozen times already this fight,' Hanzo shrugged. 'You should be…'

He twisted to the side as Genji's wrist flicked and a shuriken star flew up. Now it was Hanzo's turn to be wide eyed, but he nodded with some kind of grudging respect.

'I wondered whether it was you who had stolen the shurikens. Father suspected so, but I lived in hope that the blade was enough for you. Apparently not.'

'It would have been enough for me if you had simply let me _live in peace_.' Genji retorted.

By now Tracy had wounded or killed most of her enemies. She was hoping that, if she kept her cool, she would beat them down and help Genji in his fight against…

A shot took her in the shin. She had not waited long enough to blink, and she had been hit. She flumped to the ground and turned over, covering himself in dark brown dust. The soldiers gathered around her, pinned her down. She looked up, keeping her eyes on Genji, but trying not to look too much like a damsel in distress. This was not a plea for help. If escape was not a possibility she wanted him to fight to the bitter end.

'You see, brother, we have your girl.' Hanzo said.

Tracy tried to move back in time, but her energy was seeping away as quickly as the blood from her leg. She was down now, and could not imagine it would be easy to get back up.

Genji had a hopeless expression on his face. He turned to Hanzo.

'Very well. I will go with you.'

Hanzo smiled smugly, and turned to the enormous warship in the distance. Already more transport and offence vehicles were on there way, possibly to lead the flanking attack, possibly to collect the wounded. When Hanzo turned back to retrieve the katana from his brother he was surprised to see Genji had swung the weapon and it was slicing through the air toward…

Hanzo leaned back with uncommon grace, and the blade cut through empty air. This time when Hanzo attacked it was entirely without mercy. The bow rapped down, and across Genji's face, beating him into submission. The long, heavy weapon was as effective in Hanzo's hands at close range as she imagined it was at distance. Within seconds Genji was on the ground, hardly a match for his brother.

Hanzo snatched the katana away.

'This is mine now.' He snapped, unnecessarily.

Tracy's eyes flickered with darkness. She could only hold onto consciousness for a few more moments, but she had to see how the fraternal struggle ended.

When she thought about it later she wished she had allowed herself to slip into a coma.

Genji made one lost ploy. It was desperate, wild, and fruitless. He lashed out, bare fisted, and Hanzo kicked. It was unexpected. Since his first defensive sidestep everything about Hanzo's style had screamed of subtle grace and confidence, as if fighting itself was beneath him. He had hardly had to move at all to beat Genji down with the bow. But now, with the kick, his entire body moved with rhythm, speed, and force. His foot, suddenly at head height, moved like lightning, and caught Genji in the face.

The younger brother stumbled back, alarmingly close to the edge of the cliff that led straight to the foot of the mountain. Tracy would have cried out, but the men holding her down were causing great pressure to her chest and had stifled her voice.

Genji looked, for just a moment, as if he would find his balance. Hanzo, with a cruel flick of his wrist, tossed an arrow down. It speared the tip of Genji's shoe, and a miniscule spurt of blood leapt up to splash across the dirt.

Genji made a noise, and flailed his arms…

And fell over the side of the cliff.

'Collect the bodies of our own. Leave the girl. We're going.' Hanzo's cutting voice was the last thing Tracy heard as she was tossed away. Then the world went dark.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Hanzo stood by the pilot's console as the great warship lifted into the air. It had been an interesting, if rapid, few minutes for him. First, fighting Genji by the emergency exit set on a plateau on the mountain. And then, after his body and those of the Japanese soldiers had been recovered, shooting arrows at the miscellaneous soldiers that had appeared from the doorway.

He could not help but wonder what they were doing there. Escaping was, of course, the most likely scenario. But they did not look like clones. He suspected that they were allies of Genji; rag-tag friends he had collected along the way. Like that English girl, raggedy and slender, who had somehow dispatched almost an entire squadron of his soldiers.

Anyway, they were beyond his care or control now. He had shot at least one of them, which he considered a triumph. He had recovered Genji, and more importantly, the katana. And he had overcome the base. The sooner he reached Japan now, the better. There was still so much to do, and his father would be waiting.

A small part of him wished he had kept the English girl – Tracy, if he remembered correctly. Her ability to evade attacks, as if disappearing from sight and time, had astounded him, and he had only been paying a slither of attention to her. The rest of his squadron were in varying states of shock, and swore on their honour that she had been teleporting.

Which was, of course, ridiculous.

Wasn't it?

Hanzo clapped his pilot on the shoulder. They were in the air now. The warship would continue to rise until it slipped out of the Earth's atmosphere. And then, after a pleasant few hours that would feel entirely stationary, they would descend. These warships, designed and constructed only a few years before the Fallout, were the most advanced and most useful Hanzo had ever heard of. It was a shame that civilisation had ground to such an abrupt halt.

Still, at least the Homeland continued. He would do anything for Japan.

He left the command centre and headed in the vague direction of his bunk. He could do with a rest. Genji might not have been a trained fighter, but he had formed more of a challenge than Hanzo was willing to admit. The younger brother fought with speed and ferocity. Lately Hanzo's only rivals beyond the training grounds were sluggish undead, or clunky robots. An entirely different concern, but hardly a challenge in the right circumstances.

He was still thinking about how strange it had been to fight his brother when a young woman, her hair cut short and ragged like a school boy's, rushed toward him down the corridor, her path illuminated by the gentle artificial lights and blinking signs.

'Yes?' He asked.

'Commander, I…'

'Please, just Hanzo.' He did not say it with humour. He was not interested with unnecessary formalities or titles he had not earned. 'The Commander is my father.'

She nodded dutifully. 'Yes… sir. I have just come from the med bay.'

'I am fascinated to hear it.'

'Your brother is there, sir.'

'He will be moved to the morgue shortly, I have no doubt. A great tragedy for the Shimada family. A terrible loss of potential. But with every death comes honour, and with honour, redemption.'

The girl gulped. 'Actually, sir, the head medical officer believes they can save him. He said…'

Hanzo never heard the rest of that sentence. He was already on his way to the med bay.

The Chief Medical Officer was a broad, matronly woman by the name of Shunladi, who Hanzo knew was related to Maya in some way, though he could not remember how. He wondered how Maya was doing in the fight, where she had ended up, if she was injured.

'Tell me.' He said the moment he walked through the doors.

Shunladi did not even look up. Through Maya, she had known the Shimada boys since they were… well, boys. Hanzo was more or less a nephew to her, and she treated him with much less deferential respect, or fear, than the others on the warship.

'You shouldn't have dropped your brother off a mountain, Hanzo. That was _stupid_.'

She loved to call him stupid, as he so often was.

'He was trying to kill me.'

'Young, misunderstood, afraid. These are the traits of boys surrounded by bigger, stronger boys. You have not evolved, Hanzo. You are a schoolyard bully.'

'I have never bullied anyone in my life,' Hanzo countered, with some pride for his own conviction.

'I genuinely believe you do not know the meaning of the word.' Shunladi snapped.

She was hunched over a figure on a table that Hanzo now recognised as his younger brother. There was little enough of him left to recognise; a broken, fractured creature, a mound of crippled flesh and bone that was as indistinctly Japanese as it was meat. There was nothing of Genji left. Scraps of clothing clung to exposed muscle, bones tore from skin, and blood soaked all like holy sacrament. Hanzo had to force himself not to look away.

'Tell me.' Hanzo repeated, his voice softer this time.

'I tell you that death would have been the kinder option.' Shunladi's voice was harsh, but it too retreated to a softer tone. 'But he is alive. There is no doubt he is of your father's clan. He shares your blood.'

'The girl said…'

'I know what the girl said, I told her to say it.' Some of Shunladi's medical assistants returned from their various tasks and, working with many hands, they began to put Genji together again. At least, as best they could. 'We may be able to save Genji. _May_. But it will require your father's money, and Hana Song's technology.'

Hanzo's eyebrows raised. Song, the South Korean gamer-turned-defender, was as intelligent as any woman he'd ever met. Not only that but she was skilled on a level that few others reached after decades of training, yet she was not even out of her teens.

'What could you need that she has?' Hanzo asked.

'Tech.' Shunladi shrugged. 'Remember, very little of the world's tech survived the Fallout. So much of it turned against us, in the…'

'I remember.' Hanzo snapped, thinking of his father's involvement in the end of the world. He knew as much about the robots, about the undead, about the nuclear destruction, as anyone. More than most, in fact. More than he wanted to.

'Well, then you know that the MEKA suit is one of the most advanced pieces of technology to remain isolated from the Omnic mainframe. And we need it.'

 _Omnic_ , another word which sent shivers down Hanzo's spine. The robots which had rebelled called themselves _omnics,_ supposedly after a sea monster. Their hive mind terrified Hanzo. It was estimated by his father's advisors that 87% of the world's technology was now anti-human. The thirteen percent that remained was almost entirely situated with Japan.

Omnics, he shuddered again. The last thing they wanted was to introduce a harmful computer virus to his brother.

'So, explain this to me once more,' he said to Shunladi, whose arms were soaked to the elbow in blood and gore. 'You are going to turn my brother into a robot?'

'More accurately a _cyborg.'_ Shunladi responded. 'But yes, that's the general idea. _If_ we can manage it without turning him into an Omnic drone. And for that we need access to Hana Song's tech. Only it has the advanced cerebral cortex transistor that will do what we need it to. Do you understand?'

Hanzo nodded, but it was a nod like a sigh, foreshadowing the hours and days of exasperation to come. He realised what was required of him. He did not have to like it.

'I will get you the access.' He said. 'Hana will listen to me. And if not, my father. But my brother, will he…?'

'He will enjoy the best quality of life he can, given the circumstances, do not ask me if it will be worth it. That is a stupid thing to say.' Shunladi shook her head. 'You should not have pushed him off a mountain.'

Hanzo took that as a que to leave.

The ship felt empty, though it was not. He was approached by several members of the staff and crew, mostly asking how he was and how the battle had gone. He was forced to admit that the battle, for himself at least, had been short. One quick duel, and then a few arrows fired, and he had been re-joining those on the warship to prepare for a hasty retreat. It had almost not been worth it. Then again, how was he to know in advance that his only people would be landing at the exact same time as Genji would be preparing his escape.

Had Genji been trying to escape? It was hard to tell. The younger brother had, of course, been at the back exit. And he had been with his closest companion, the girl. But had they been leaving the rest of their companions? Perhaps trying to draw Hanzo away from the facility?

It had not worked. The reports stated that hundreds were dead – a mixture of clone forces and Japanese. It was Genji's fault. Hanzo would not have signalled the attack if not for his brother's treachery and stubbornness.

The last few months had been long. The relief of knowing that Genji was finally back under their control was exhilarating.

The reports also stated that they had breached the atmosphere, which was a wonderful development, and that the second warship (which had attacked the front entrance of the facility) was not yet behind them. Apparently the troops had had difficulty returning to the warship after the retreat was sounded due to a force of machines that had swarmed from behind, catching the Japanese between a pincer formation of clone and robot armies. An accidental formation, no doubt, but an inconvenient one all the same.

'How many will be joining us?' Hanzo asked.

'None.' The first-mate, delivering the information, had responded grimly. 'We are receiving no communication from the warship. We must assume that it will never leave the earth again.'

'Destroyed?' Hanzo considered, just for a moment, turning their own vessel around.

'Perhaps.'

It was too late, of course. Whatever happened in the abandoned facility of America's desert was in the past. The troops of the warship may be dead, but the raid had been a success, and that was all that mattered to Hanzo.

'Thank you. Keep me updated.'

Hanzo left the first-mate, who immediately returned to the Bridge to meet with the pilot. Hanzo, feeling useless on board the vessel, wandered aimlessly. He was equally useless in the med-bay. Was his only skill truly fighting?

No. He was a leader as well, like his father. People looked to him. He had authority.

To have authority was not a _skill_.

He sighed. It served no purpose to beat himself up. There were plenty of enemies willing to do that for him. What he should do was accept that which he could control, and move on. Genji was alive, if injured. Many of his men were dead. The mission had been a success. Hadn't it?

He heard something then. A crackle in the air vents. A thud. He looked up, and noticed the smallest of dents in the metal of the roof above.

Something, he realised, was crawling in the roof. Something alive. He drew his bow, and nocked an arrow.

Whatever it was would not get far.


	18. Chapter 18

Widowmaker looked over the group. An intensely fat man armed with a shotgun and some sort of _hook;_ a beautiful blonde woman who used magic to heal the others (now wounded by an arrow shot); a small, skinny rat of a man with a grenade launcher; and a darkly dressed individual with a mask like a skull.

They weren't so intimidating. Much less intimidating than her own group, which consisted of Soldier 76 – a clone well past his use-by date – and three more of his kind, led by Widowmaker herself.

Then again, she reminded herself, it wasn't so much an _us and them_ scenario. Technically both groups were working together. If you could call watching an enemy warship flying into the distance _working._

'Over here!' the fat man, Road Hog, called. They were standing atop a plateau at the Northern end of the mountain, the back exit. It was a small door that didn't really lead anywhere, but apparently their enemies had found exactly what they wanted here. From what Widowmaker could tell, though she hadn't exactly asked, their enemies had wanted a man named Genji. Though what possible value a single man could hold she didn't know, even if he was the son of…

She shook her head to clear that particular thought. Everyone has a past, and the last thing she needed was to be thinking of _that_ part of history.

Mercy's team hurried over to where Road Hog was now leaning. Before him, draped unconscious on the unforgivingly hot stone, was a young woman with short cropped hair. This must be Tracy. Widowmaker had heard the name.

'Great,' Junkrat threw his hands up. 'Mercy's been shot, Tracy's dead, Genji's been taken…'

'And you killed McCree, didn't you?' Road Hog asked, voice low and guttural. Then, when Junkrat didn't answer, he repeated: 'Didn't you?!'

'Yes!' Junkrat snarled. 'Yes I did, and I'd damn well do it again, 'oright?'

Road Hog scowled, but said nothing further. Reaper also remained silent. Widowmaker glanced in 76's direction, but he was already leaning over Mercy to supply her with a biotic field. The energy field it created was having a healthy effect on the blonde woman's skin. Soldier 76 gently removed the arrow from her upper chest. Widowmaker was surprised by how gentle the grizzly soldier was.

Mercy opened her eyes. 'What happened?' she asked.

'You were shot. Hanzo's arrow. And now Genji's gone.' Soldier 76 spoke quietly, his voice grim.

The blonde struggled to her feet, her left arm holding onto 76's muscled bicep for support. She looked up at his sharp blue eyes. 'Well, thank you. It's not often someone else heals me.'

Widowmaker's eyebrows raised. She was certain she had just seen Soldier 76 – who had not flinched in the face of a thousand dangers – blush.

'You're welcome.' He mumbled.

The ground shook beneath their feet. Road Hog scooped Tracy into his arms. She was still unconscious, and Mercy didn't look ready to use her magic yet – if it really was magic. Widowmaker looked around, waiting for someone to say something, but many of them were looking at her. Widowmaker realised, with no small degree of surprise, that she was considered a leader here, though she had been a raving undead monster only a few hours ago; a memory she did not relish, and was trying to keep from her busy mind.

'We can't stay here.' Widowmaker said, finally, sounding much more sure than she felt.

'We all know that, sheila.' Junkrat's accent was infuriating, a parody of an idiot. 'Any forthcoming suggestions?'

'Actually, yes. There's a ship hidden beneath the facility. If we can get to it we can fly far from here. We could fly around the world three times on that amount of fuel. And there are provisions to last a small team close to a year.'

For the first time she saw their grim, dirty faces crack into something resembling a smile. These desperate, homeless warriors finally felt like they had a chance.

'We can go after Genji.' Mercy breathed.

'We can go after answers.' Reaper responded, his voice echoing unbidden in their minds.

'There's a catch.' Widowmaker slam-dunked their hopes. 'To get to the ship we have to go back into the facility, and my assumption is that we will face many enemies.'

76 nodded grimly, looking at the three remaining clones. Each of them, in turn, nodded. There was no question in their minds, no doubt that they had been built for this purpose and none other.

'We'll take point,' the old soldier said. 'But we'll be moving fast.'

They did move fast. Almost faster than Widowmaker could keep up. Once, not so long ago, she had been at a pinnacle of fitness and authority. Now she was an insecure, shivering, sore, blue shadow of her past self. Again, she shook the thoughts away. There was no time to dwell on them.

She just hoped that her new allies didn't regret bringing her back. They didn't know, after all, that Widowmaker's torture had been much more than just that. They didn't know her mission.

Soldier 76's men were incredible. They raced ahead at twice the speed of any normal man, and still had reflexes fast enough to dash left, right, roll ahead, fire constantly. Enemies fell on all sides. But the further they moved through the facility the less Japanese they found. In fact, if anything, the Japanese seemed to be running.

But from what?

The answer came swiftly, but it was not welcome.

Omnics. The robotic monsters must have attacked the facility while Soldier 76's clone army was busy with the Japanese intruders at the front gate. So much damage had been done already, and so many warriors had been engaged in battle, Widowmaker could only imagine it had been a massacre.

Soldier 76's men continued to lead the way, but they were slowing now, taking each corner much more carefully. The omnics, though devoid of actual thought, were extremely dangerous. A few shots to the head or body would not necessarily bring them down. Some had been built so that their primary processing functions were contained within their skinny limbs, or near their rolling treadmill tyres, which made them very difficult to stop without completely destroying them.

The clone's guns were fitted with helix rockets, but even so…

Soldier 76 kept up with his younger, almost identical brothers. He was there, leading the way, his blue and white uniform a gleaming beacon of hope. Widowmaker watched him with new respect. For months they had run this facility together, and she had always taken his assistance for granted. But now, seeing him in action, she realised that his abilities extended far beyond the management of the facility, of the clones. He was a true leader, right down to his bones. The sort of leader that led from the front, and expected nothing of his army that he would not do himself.

'Use ya staff, Mercy.' Junkrat said. Widowmaker turned to look at the skinny Australian, who was in turn looking at the beautiful blonde healer.

'The Caduceus staff?' Mercy asked, looking down at the long rod in her hands. 'What about it?'

'Use it to heal Tracy. Look at Hoggy, the fat bastard's carrying the girl, how long do you expect him to keep that up?'

Mercy shook her head. 'There is no magic in the staff. It just channels the healing energies, helps me to project where I want to project.'

'So where's the magic come from?' Junkrat frowned.

'Me.' Mercy answered simply. 'And I do not have the energy to walk and heal Tracy, so unless you'd rather be carrying me…'

Both Junkrat and Road Hog looked as though that was a preferable option, Widowmaker noticed with a smirk. But neither said anything, as Mercy did not give them a chance. She increased her pace to jog alongside Widowmaker.

'How are you feeling? It must not have been easy, realising what you had…'

'We don't have time to talk about that.' Widowmaker scowled. 'Focus on the…'

The path opened up onto a great hangar, on the far side of which was a sleek looking ship of modern design. There was some wear and tear to the wings, but otherwise it was almost new. Widowmaker smiled. She new that particular bird like the back of her own hand.

'Meet _Mantis_.' She gestured for the benefit of the others. 'And yes, I named her after a bug who eats her…'

Gunfire erupted. The Omnics were ahead and behind them. Road Hog unceremoniously dropped Tracy, and whipped his hook-chain around to knock two of them down. Junkrat flung a trap down. Soldier 76 and his three clones leapt into action. One of them was almost immediately shot down. No one, Widowmaker noticed, went to his rescue.

'We need to get over there.' Widowmaker said. 'Or at least, I do. There's an EMP emitter inside built for situations exactly like this. If I get close enough I can…'

Mercy's surprisingly tough arm, linked around Widowmaker's slender waist. They locked eyes for a moment, only centimetres apart, and Widowmaker was unable to help being overcome by a feeling she had not felt in a very long time…

It did not last. Mercy leapt into the air, her wings spreading, and they shot forward.

The hangar was perhaps one hundred meters wide, and twice as long. It was designed to hold a dozen planes the size of this jet, but now it, having been evacuated long ago, it was nothing more than storage. Trucks, cars, and transport-buggies of all shapes and sizes littered the floor, some with hovering capabilities, some without. There were also piles of crates that stretched almost to the roof, and more discarded machinery than Widowmaker could even name. In short, it gave the machines blocking their path plenty of places to hide.

'How did they reach this place before us?' Widowmaker asked, though she knew Mercy would have no answers. Perhaps the Omnics had overtaken the entire facility while they were outside looking for Genji and Tracy. It would explain why they had seen so few Japanese soldiers on their return journey through the facility, and not a single living clone.

'I'm hoping we can fly right across.' Mercy stated, ignoring the question. 'It will take us hours to fight through that labyrinth of…'

A shot hit Mercy's wing. A stray shot; a lucky shot. But that was all it took. Mercy dove, crashed against the top of a pillar of crates, and both women rolled. Widowmaker managed to stop herself, but Mercy kept on rolling, before disappearing over the edge.

'No!' Widowmaker called, unable to stop herself. But Mercy was gone.

Two options remained; Widowmaker could climb down, try to help Mercy reach safety; or she could continue. She was over halfway to the jet now, and if she made it inside a few simple button clicks would save them all.

She glanced behind her. The towering figure of Road Hog was there, crunching his way through the Omnics as though they were toys. Around him explosions and shouts were hints of Junkrat's grenades, or the destruction of Omnics, or perhaps helix rockets.

Time was running out. Widowmaker made her decision.

She pulled her recon visor down over her face, and the crowded hangar lit up with brilliant red splotches. The Omnics. They had a very distinct heat signature deep in their processing units, and the recon visor could spot it from a mile away. It also had the helpful function of distinguishing Omnic heat signatures from that of humans. Widowmaker wondered what her own signature might look like, considering she had hardly even been alive a few hours ago.

No. No time.

She raised a hand and launched her grappling hook. It snatched a hold onto the next pile of cartons and she was flung forward. Beneath her, red light patterns waited patiently… but she was faster. With her gun she fired once, twice, three times, and three robots fell. All she had to do was shoot out their processing units, which her recon visor allowed her to specifically aim for, an advantage over the robots that the others didn't have.

She ran along the next line of crates, then leapt down, sumersaulting through the air to land on top of a speeding robot. She raised her rifle, swapped it to fully-automatic mode, and fired a flurry of bullets which cleared her path forward. With some difficult she stood, jammed the heel of her boot into the head of the machine she was riding so that it stopped dead, and then fired her grappling hook again.

This time she hit the top of a tall truck. She landed on top, ran a few meters, then double-flipped onto the next idle truck. She was practically within reach of the _Mantis_ now. Just one more shot and…

An Omnic shot caught her thigh and she dropped, sprawling on the ground. The machine responsible hurried over and, before she could attack it, pointed a gun at her face. Widowmaker did not make any sudden movements. There was no telling how these robots were programmed, the last thing she wanted to do was scare it…

'Target identified.' The Omnic spoke in an electronic parody of a voice. 'Special Agent Lacroix, code-name Widowmaker. The Dragon has been looking for you.'

Widowmaker smiled. Nice to know that they were looking for each other, then.

A pillar of black smoke arose from the ground behind the Omnic and from it stepped a grim figure, dressed in darkness, his face an expressionless, bone-white mask. Reaper raised two Hellfire shotguns and, without delay, fired.

He held out a hand. 'Come on.' He said. 'Where the hell is this EMP device?'

Widowmaker nodded gratefully, but wasted no time on thanks.

'This way. And don't slow me down.'


	19. Chapter 19

Widowmaker led Reaper onto the _Mantis_ , her airship, a sleek thing with a few well-worn notches in the wings. It was beautiful, her own, a personal prize hidden deep in the facility she called home. Or at least, _had_ called home. It was hard to think of this place as a haven anymore, what with the dead clones strewn down every corridor, the Japanese attack squad that had decimated their defences, and of course the machine army that was now cleaning up.

Omnics, she reminded herself. They were much, much more than simple machines.

She rushed through the cabin of the _Mantis_ and reached the main console, where it took her only a few moments to activate the EMP blast. She fancied she could feel the wave as it reverberated outwards. She certainly _heard_ it. Machines and their weapons instantly went silent, and the vast hangar felt emptier than it ever had before.

'That was impressive.' Reaper said, his voice echoing in her mind, a dark and grizzled thing.

She nodded. 'That was how we planned to fight the Omnics, initially. But now… well, the technology is hard to find, and harder to replicate. The _Mantis_ is one of few airships fitted with it. A few moments to reboot the internals, and then…'

'The EMP doesn't stop the ship?' Reaper asked.

'No. Each piece of hardware is protected by an internal sheath. Smarter people than me designed it, but it works.'

The _Mantis_ hummed to life a few seconds later, lights flashing on every surface, and a cool breeze running through the ventilation system. Widowmaker entered her password and the dashboard lit up.

'Go let the others in.' She instructed, and Reaper did as he was told. _If any of them remain alive_ , she thought.

Luckily almost all of them had managed to hold against the Omnics. Junkrat had watched their backs, firing an endless stream of grenades down the corridor and laying whatever traps he had. The two younger clones had died – one decapitated by a falling robot, the other shot – which meant that Soldier 76, one of the first of his kind, was now one of the last. He had accumulated a scar on his forehead which Mercy seemed unable to heal. It made him look rather dashing, heroic, if even older than before.

Tracy was awake. She looked withdrawn, upset. But Widowmaker imagined that was probably a fair enough reaction, when her partner Genji had so recently been taken away. They had been lovers, Widowmaker guessed.

Still, there was something she didn't like about the young woman. A cockiness which came across in her English accent, bright and high-pitched even now, in her sadness. It was annoying to listen to. The girl was cute, yes, but that wasn't enough to make someone her friend.

'How long until the Omnics wake up?' Soldier 76 asked, joining Widowmaker at the console. He was one of few clones who had received lessons on flying. That had been years, and years ago, back when the government powers had hoped that the clones would be a suitable counter-weapon to the robots.

'A few minutes.' She said. 'Don't worry, we're leaving.'

Once everyone was on board, Road Hog bringing up the rear, Widowmaker lifted the _Mantis_ into the air and, hovering in place, they turned to face the exit.

'We're going that way?' Soldier 76 asked. Below them the maze of stationary vehicles and piled-up crates of supplies looked much less dangerous. 'Shouldn't we open the door?'

The hangar door was a heavy blast door, concrete, almost impossible to open. Not like the main doors at the front of the facility. Widowmaker didn't even want to imagine the destruction that had taken place over there… Last time she'd seen it there had been a Japanese warship parked outside, vehicles of destruction firing back and forth, clones dying in their scores, smoke rising…

These doors could only be opened on foot, by someone standing at a control desk to the right of the doors. Widowmaker or 76 were the only ones with the passcodes.

'We'll get to that,' she replied, hovering closer to the exit, enjoying the sensation of controlling the _Mantis._ 'But first, what do you think of our new friends?'

76 turned, as if he could see the rest of the group through the walls that separated the cockpit and the cabins.

'Most of them seem like good people.' He admitted.

'I thought the same. That's what worries me. This group of _good people_ arrive on our doorstep and from what you've told me we barely last another hour. They bring trouble.'

'Trouble answers to no man. In my experience it brings itself.'

Widowmaker smiled wryly. 'You're right. But these people certainly don't bring peace, either.'

'Are you saying we should dump them? I'm not sure I would be comfortable with that.'

'Not at all. I'm saying we should use them for as long as we can.'

'And then dump them?'

Widowmaker shrugged. 'If necessary.'

The _Mantis_ was now stopped right by the hangar door. Widowmaker turned and led Soldier 76 back to the cabins, where they found Mercy, Road Hog, Junkrat, Tracy, and Reaper sitting very quietly.

'What are we waiting for?' Junkrat asked.

'Soldier 76 is going to get the doors.' Widowmaker informed them. 76 saluted, then went to the back of the airship. He opened the loading door and stepped out onto the pile of cartons that Widowmaker had stopped next to. From here it was a short climb to the hangar doors console.

'Right, so then what?' Tracy asked. 'There are a lot of people on this ship. Lots of very different people. We need to decide where we're going. I vote we go after Genji.'

'We're not just gonna run after Genji.' Junkrat rolled his eyes, his antagonising expression only causing Tracy more distress. 'He lied about who he was, and got himself killed. The rest of us need to look out for the rest of us.'

'So what? He was still part of the group!' Tracy exclaimed. 'And besides, I've lied about who I am, too!'

This brought a moment of silence among those gathered. They looked at her expectantly. Finally, sighing, she opened up.

'My real name is Lena Oxton. My call sign was Tracer, which is why Genji and I used _Tracy_ as my false name. I'm a pilot… sort of. I was supposed to join Overwatch when I…'

'Overwatch?' Junkrat shouted. Road Hog spat on the floor of the _Mantis._ Widowmaker eyed him unpleasantly as Junkrat continued. 'Are you fucking kidding? You were one of those _maniacs_? That explains everything!'

'I never did!' Tracy – Lena – replied. 'They were disbanded before I was old enough.'

Mercy had exchanged a look with Reaper. 'What is Overwatch?'

Widowmaker stared at the blonde. Beautiful she might be, but apparently the healer lived beneath a rock. She was no child. She was old enough to remember Overwatch, to remember what had happened before the Fallout…

'Overwatch,' Junkrat scowled, 'is the reason for all this. The reason the sky went grey for weeks, the reason the robots turned against us, the reason hover cars crashed to ground and the undead walk the earth. Overwatch is…'

'Shut up!' Tracy shouted back. She looked close to tears. 'Shut up, it's not true.'

Road Hog's booming voice cut through their argument. 'Everyone knows it's true.'

'Actually,' Widowmaker said, 'it's not.'

Finally, a brief moment of silence. They all looked at her. None looked more confused than Mercy, and she was the one who captured Widowmaker's attention, so Widowmaker took the story right back to the beginning. At least as far as she knew the story went.

'Many years ago, decades, the world started to divide. There were too many people, close to eight billion, and not enough resources or money or time to look after them all. Organisations began springing up on every continent, in every country, every city. Secret, sometimes, or overt in the case of others. And all with different agendas. Some of these organisations wanted peace, others destructions, and some wanted to wipe out millions of people to bring our population under control. They spoke of diseases, famines, wars. Nightmares.'

Widowmaker shuddered. She remembered some of those dark times from when she had been a child. France had had its fair share of villains. She remembered some other times from her early days as a Special Agent.

'Overwatch was created to save people. A team of highly gifted, highly trained, highly dangerous individuals. Mostly scientists, with a few warriors in there too. Reinhardt, of course, was incredible. He was my hero growing up. And then there was the brilliant Winston, deadly Ana, gracious Symmetra...'

'What happened to them?' Mercy asked, voice full of innocence.

'They died.'

'All of them?'

'Most of them.'

Junkrat made a _tsk_ noise. 'Hold on. You skipped the part where they cause the end of the world.'

Widowmaker sighed sadly. 'Overwatch were framed for that. The media latched on to their every move, made it look like they had caused the very damage they were onsite to stop. Overwatch continued, of course, for as long as it could. A lot of governments around the world had invested their time and money into the program, they couldn't simply let it go. It was the United Nations of peacekeeping organisations. But eventually it had to be disbanded.'

'And what makes you an authority on Overwatch?' Junkrat asked.

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow. 'I was one of the agents tasked with bringing them down.'

It took the group a few moments to get past this particular rush of information. Lena Oxton, or Tracy, whatever her name was, looked especially wounded, as if Widowmaker had slapped her.

'Why would you do it?'

'I didn't. Or at least I stopped as soon as I could.'

'Who was bringing them down?' Mercy asked.

'A rival organisation, called Talon. They had a lot less media presence, and a lot less authority, but a lot more money. Some very rich, very important people around the world wanted Overwatch out of the way. And eventually they got their wish.'

At that moment Soldier 76 climbed back onto the loading ramp of the _Mantis_ , and clicked it shut behind him.

'Doors are open.' He grunted. Then, looking around the group, he asked, 'what have we been talking about?'

'Our destination.' Widowmaker answered. 'Japan.'

There was a murmur of confusion between the others. As before it was Junkrat who spoke his indignation, while Road Hog and Reaper remained quiet, their thoughts unreadable.

'Japan?' The Australian Junker asked. 'Why the fuck would we go there?'

'I can think of five reasons,' Widowmaker raised her hand. 'First, I am the pilot, and that is where I want to go. Second, it is the only remaining nation that still maintains a full civilisation. Third, Tracy wants to get Genji back, and that is where he will be. Fourth, we need answers, and I promise you that they lie in Japan. Why else would it be the only country to survive the Fallout, as well as the Omnic uprising?'

'And five?' Tracy/Lena asked.

'I can't remember.'

Widowmaker piloted the _Mantis_ out the doors of the side-hangar of the facility. They were on a different side of the mountain than they had been an hour earlier. Unable to help her curiosity Widowmaker directed the ship around a quick lap of the facility.

The back doors were abandoned, flung open, with no one still around. The Japanese warship which had landed there with Hanzo on board had left with Genji some time ago. It looked almost peaceful on this side of the rocky outcrop.

On the other side was a very different vision. The first Japanese warship, the one which had attacked the facility head on, was still parked outside the front entrance. It was in ruins, smoke billowing into the air. It would probably never leave the ground again. Scattered around it were the bodies of a hundred clones, a few dozen Japanese soldiers, and many more Omnics. These robots had not been affected by the EMP, and were very much alive. They clambered over the warship, tearing it apart, building new Omnics to increase their army. And still more were rolling in from the West, an endless river of them stretching further than Widowmaker could see.

'Unbelievable.' Soldier 76 breathed. There was great sorrow in his voice. Many of his brothers, his family, had died in that battle.

'You know,' Widowmaker remarked, 'we may be the last living people in America.'

She directed the _Mantis_ upwards, angling toward the atmosphere. They would hang close to the Earth's gravitational pull for a few hours, then dive back in when they were over Japan. It was the way the _Mantis_ had been designed to travel, and it was extremely fast, not to mention calming.

'Not for much longer.' 76 replied.

Widowmaker thought of her conversation with the others, explaining the history of Overwatch. It was an organisation she had grown up admiring, much like Tracy, but her admiration had been beaten out of her. Her time with Talon was all that lingered now, a blotch at the forefront of her mind that reminded her she would never really be free. Her evil deeds may have been in the past, but they were catching up.

She did remember the fifth reason to go to Japan, but she had not wanted to tell the others. Murder is a bad way to end a conversation, and assassination isn't much better.

But she was the Widowmaker, after all. And she had a job to do.


	20. Chapter 20

Hanzo frowned at the noise in the roof of his ship. They had only recently left the ground, what could possibly have latched onto them already? Something that, he was sure, would soon be dead.

He raised the Storm Bow and drew back an arrow, feeling his arm tense with the effort. It was a powerful bow, meant for powerful men. Like himself. He heard it again, that clamouring noise in the roof, and he fired. No point taking prisoners. Anyone who had something to hide in the ventilation shafts was no ally.

A scream cried out. The arrow had punctured the roof, but nothing could be seen through the tiny, shaft-sized hole; at least not until a line of blood came dribbling down a moment later. So, it was a person after all. That was a good sign. It would have been worse if it was a robot, an _Omnic._ There was nothing Hanzo Shimada hated more than those electronic bastards.

He drew back another arrow, but it was not a normal one. This was a sonic arrow, an ingenious invention of his father's scientific staff which not only hurt enemies, but also sent out a short-duration sonic pulse. For a few seconds after the pulse was launched Hanzo could, through his biotic implant, spot enemies. He fired.

Again, the arrow caused someone – or something – to cry out in pain. Again a spool of blood unravelled from the roof and slithered toward the ground. But this time he was gifted with _vision._ Irreplaceable _vision._

The image above, crawling through the shafts, was that of a man. What type of man it was impossible to say so far, except that he was in fairly good health despite the two arrow wounds he had now sustained. Hanzo walked along, in no great rush, following the line of blood and muttering that now fell from above. There were dents in the shafts. Someone was up there, and they had stopped trying to subtle. They were crawling away as if their life depended on it. Which, Hanzo could not help but admit, it did.

He fired a third time and it was the last. Third time lucky, he realised, had paid off. The figure above flailed in pain, broke through the shaft he was crawling through, and the entire structure collapsed through the plaster roof to the floor. Dust and wiring and piping and metallic tubes crashed to the floor, along with a man. A man that looked like a warrior. A man that looked like a Sherriff, or some law enforcement official for a small shanty town, complete with broad cowboy hat and badge, and a red sand-towel draped over his shoulders.

'Who are you?' Hanzo demanded, drawing a fourth arrow and pointing it at the intruder's chest. 'And what in the Dragon's name are you doing here?'

The man on the floor scowled, arrows peppering him like poorly placed acupuncture sticks. He had to use his elbows to crawl; a poor parody of a wounded man desperate to live. He would not get far.

'What is your name?' Hanzo repeated, slamming a heavily armoured foot down on the intruder's leg.

'Ahh!' He cried. 'My name is McCree! McCree, damnit! I'm a gunslinger, I live on the road and I die on the road.'

'You die wherever the fuck I tell you to die.' Hanzo snarled. He knew he was in the position of power here, and he wanted the man beneath his gaze to know it as well.

McCree turned, agonisingly slowly, and tossed away an old six-shooter. It looked more ancient even than Hanzo's bow and arrow. Had this man lived under a rock since laser weapons and hover cars were made commonplace?

'Look, that's my only weapon! Don't shoot, damn you, don't shoot me again!'

Hanzo nodded slowly, lowered his bow and placed the arrow back in his quiver. 'Very well, _McCree,_ but you owe me one hell of a story before we get to Japan.'

McCree went pale. 'Japan?'

This McCree fellow, this outlaw, did not strike Hanzo as the type to easily succumb to pain or violence. And yet here he was, mellow and submissive, waiting for Hanzo's next movement or word. Clearly he thought that this was a much better place to be than wherever he had been.

'So, let me get this straight.' Hanzo said, sometime after McCree had finished speaking, and both were settled on a lounger with Hanzo's soldiers watching over. 'Your friend tried to kill you.'

'Tried his damn best.' McCree growled, his voice much more even and aggressive than it had been. Though still injured, Hanzo's medics had relieved the pain as much as they could, and McCree looked the better for it.

'Please, elaborate.'

'He fired a bunch of grenades into my room. What more information do you need?'

'Well, tell me this, how did you escape?'

McCree sighed. 'There are vents in every room. Not big enough for me to crawl through but, if I lifted the bed up, which I did, they were big enough to hide me while the room burned. Took over an hour, but eventually I was able to crawl back out.'

'It sounds like a dubious story. I struggle to believe that no one checked behind the bed, especially if it was angled against a wall.'

'Believe what you want.' McCree shrugged. 'Remember there was a small army of your troops attacking the base. Not many people were paying attention to my room, and those that were had no trouble assuming I was dead.'

Hanzo pursed his lips. He could imagine it, more or less, but he didn't want to. The sensation of being trapped in a confined space, hoping against hope that your meagre cover would save your life against the onslaught of explosions… well, it was one he wished never to experience again.

'A grenade launcher.'

'That's right.'

Hanzo frowned. His face felt a permanent frown lately. But then he had been engaged in some dark, trying work. The hunting of one's brother was not a task he would recommend.

'Assuming I believe your story of survival, which I do not, what happened next?'

'When the coast had cleared I snuck out. Plenty of entrances and exits to escape by.'

'But the battle…'

McCree nodded. 'The battle made things easier. None of the exits were unguarded, but they were all in a state of chaos, and that's just as good. I snuck past here and there, had to use a flash grenade, but no big deal. I was out of the building in no time. I was less than a kilometre from the mountain facility when guess who landed on me.'

The corners of Hanzo's mouth twitched. It was, more or less, a smile.

'We did?'

'Correct. Big damn warship, right on top. Wasn't easy, but I managed to sneak on.'

'Why?'

'Why do you think? One of my companions was trying to kill me!'

'And this brings us back to my original concern.' Hanzo mused, with deliberate casualness. 'If your allies are so willing to see you dead, what possible purpose would I serve by allowing you to live?'

'Aside from the fact that my allies are your enemies?' McCree noted wryly. 'And, that aside, I'm too badly wounded and unarmed to do you any harm anyway?'

Hanzo had to admit these were good points. But still…

'Yes, aside from that.'

'Well,' McCree continued, 'let's take into account that this particular bastard hated me before our stint as allies even began. I killed his people a few months back. And just recently I killed mine.'

'Seems death follows wherever you go.'

'Seems so.'

Hanzo genuinely considered killing the outlaw. It would not have been hard. Neither of them were armed at that particular moment, but what did it matter? McCree had wounds across most of his body, many inflicted within the past hour, and more than one potent drug coursing through him. The road renegade looked about as ready to pass out as he did to fight back. Hanzo, on the other hand, was in peak fighting condition. Their fight, if it even began, would last seconds.

'Very well,' Hanzo finally relented. 'I will allow you to live as my prisoner until we reach Japan. My father will decide what to do with you after we have extracted any and all useful information.'

'All I want is to survive.' McCree muttered. 'Survival is key in these times.'

'You're right. And, what's more, I have no doubt you are being honest. But that's not enough.' Again, Hanzo considered smiling, allowed the twitch to reach his cheeks if not his lips. 'Because your survival may not be the greatest aid in _our_ survival. And for me, _our survival_ is key.'

'As in…'

'Japan.' Hanzo slammed a fist onto the table. 'The power of Japan will prevail long after you and I have fallen. At least, if I have anything to say about it.'

Hanzo showed McCree to his quarters, beside the infirmary. From there they spent a few minutes watching Genji, whom McCree seemed to know as Mike. The younger brother was beyond unconscious. His breathing was so shallow he might as well have been dead, and the wounds…

'You fucked him up, didn't you?' McCree asked, looking over, unable to look away. 'I mean, pretty bad.'

'Yes.' Hanzo nodded.

'Why?'

'I did not want to. Nor did I mean to. But Genji did not realise the importance of the object he held. Nor he did he appreciate my resolve to complete the mission. His underestimation was his doom. Now we both suffer for it.'

McCree looked unhappy with the answer. 'Seems you almost killed your brother, to put it simply.'

'To put it simply,' Hanzo replied slowly, 'you would be correct.'

They spent another minute in silence.

'He won't die that easily, you know.' McCree finally said. 'I've spent a little time with that bastard. Not much, but enough. I know what a tough little turd he is, and I'm sure you do too. To survive in this harsh wilderness with just one ally is a hell of a feat. He's not going to die because of a few broken bones, some torn skin. He's going to rise, and rise again. Stronger than ever, probably.'

'I sincerely hope he does.' Hanzo agreed. 'In fact I'll be paying to ensure it. He is my brother after all.'

'You treat him like an enemy.'

'A man can be both. Your own companions seem scarcely like friends.'

McCree sighed. 'I didn't ask for this life.'

'I will not presume to lecture you on it if you do not lecture me on mine.' Hanzo answered, skirting the primary issue. Both were men of violence, men of war. They had a certain level of respect. A certain level of unwillingness to speak about these issues.

'Fine.' McCree snarled. 'Let's drop it, if that's what you want.'

'What I want,' Hanzo replied, 'is understanding. What I did, I did because I had to. Do you see that?'

'Yes.'

'Then we will get along just fine.'

Hanzo held out a hand. It took a moment, but McCree shook it, surprising them both. Hanzo stood to leave. There would be a guard posted to the sheriff's door. He would not be escaping.

'What are you going to do with me?' McCree asked as Hanzo left.

'My father shall decide.' Hanzo did not turn around as he walked through the door. 'But I promise you it will not be as forgiving as the fate we decide for my brother.'

And he slammed the door shut.


	21. Chapter 21

Hana was reading Warcraft novels when the guard came to tell her the news. She was reading Warcraft novels because she couldn't play WoW. She couldn't play WoW because ever since the Omnic virus there was very little technology that could be trusted. Recreational technology at any rate. The Shimada family had anti-virus firewalls specifically made to combat the Omnic virus, and had managed to save most of Japan's economic tech. Not to mention their machines of war…

Hana was, ever so slightly, proud. Her MEKA drone was one of the only non-Japanese items that had been cleared for use. That was, of course, because they needed her. Needed _it._

'They're landing now.' The guard said.

'You mean…'

'Yes.' He smiled at her, as one might smile at a small child. She hated that, but would forgive it on this occasion. She knew what she looked like; how the older men thought of her. 'Genji and Hanzo are back.'

She was on her feet in an instant. 'We must see them at once!'

The guard raised a single, inquisitive eyebrow.

'Yes.' She agreed with a purposeful nod of the head. 'You're absolutely right. Clothes first.'

Her pyjama boxers and loose, oversized shirt were not appropriate for a reunion. Even if the shirt did have the most adorable picture of Pikachu, now slightly coated in Dorito dust.

A few minutes later they were on their way to the docks – the landing platform. It was by far the biggest, emptiest space on the entire military base, but Hana was not allowed to play on it. The risk of damage to the war machines was, as General Shimada put it, too great. They didn't quite trust Hana. She hated that.

She was the best damn pilot in South Korea. Well, with a console controller in her hand at any rate. The odds of her running into a parked spaceship was about as possible as Gollum fishing the one ring out of the volcano with nothing but his shoelaces. Pretty flippin' slim.

The warship hovered lower, lower, and touched down. Dust and hot air was thrown out like wave after wave coming in, a tide of exhaust. The powerful drone of the engine slowed to a deep pitch before finally cutting out. And, finally, the loading bay doors fell open.

Hanzo was first out. He looked older than he had when he left, Hana thought. He'd never looked young, of course, but something was putting age on him in a bad way. Worry for his younger brother, perhaps? Still, Hana had been worried for Genji too, and she didn't look any older. If anything she looked younger. But that was probably the strict diet and training regime General Shimada put her through. These days she barely got an hour to herself each day. And when she did it was invariably spent on Doritos and books.

She had a few Gameboys, rescued from before the Fallout and far too old for the Omnic virus to affect. But she'd finished each game a dozen times, and was now hoping someone salvaged a super Nintendo, or Sega. They might not be confiscated by General Shimada the Strict.

Hana knew her place. She hated her place. Hanzo greeted his father first, clasping their thick muscled arms and nodding. There was a sadness, a regret, in Hanzo's eyes that Hana didn't like the look of. She tried to read his lips when he spoke, but it was too hard from this distance.

Hanzo and his father looked about the same age. Too much grey in his hair for someone so young. Hanzo was going to worry himself to an early death.

And speaking of early death, where was Genji? They'd gone to America to rescue him, after all, hadn't they? He should have been the guest of honour, strutting down the stage Han-Solo-style. The prodigal son. But…

Hana shrugged. Maybe he was injured. She'd catch up with him later.

Hanzo continued shaking hands, bowing, nodding, smiling grimly as he did, until all of the General's staff had their little moment to congratulate and welcome the warrior home. All this was, of course, to the sound of ecstatic applause from the rest of the crowd, a mixture of deck hands, soldiers, staff, and civilians who had been invited into the military base for this event. Hana started forward, hoping to catch Hanzo's eye and ask him about the dangerous territories, but she was interrupted.

Staff had already begun unloading the equipment from the warship the moment Hanzo stepped onto solid ground. But only now were they delivering the item of honour, the real piece de resistance – the sword. Hana knew nothing about it, but she knew it was important to the Shimada family. The woman carrying it was one Hana recognised – Maya, one of Hanzo's closest and most trusted allies. She got on her knees and held the blade up with great deference. General Shimada took it from her, bowed with deepest respect, and then gathered his retinue with a brief wave.

So, that was that.

As the General retired to other matters Hanzo turned to direct his staff, his army. There seemed to be almost no one injured, which was good.

Hanzo skipped her way over to archer.

'So, how was it?'

'Dangerous. Very dangerous. North America is overrun by the hungry dead and the Omnic horde. Japan may be the only safe space still remaining in the world.'

Hana had suspected it for a while, simply from the way General Shimada and his followers acted. They were prepared for anything. They were prepared, somehow, even for the Fallout. Even for the Omnics. How could they have known?

They couldn't. They'd been lucky. Hana was lucky too. If she hadn't been on the Miyazaki tour with some friends she would have been in South Korea when the Omnics rose. She would still have been there when the bombs were detonated. She wouldn't be anywhere now. Or, maybe, in a lot of tiny places all at once.

'Well,' she smiled, and wrapped Hanzo in a hug. 'I'm glad you're back.'

She could feel the deep purr of his chest as he hummed a smile; a smile which did not quite make it to his cheeks. 'I'm glad to be back. But not all is well. There is certainly no cause for celebration.'

'Why, what happened?'

Hanzo prised her tightly clasped, tiny fingers apart, and they walked to the Headquarters together. He was almost a foot taller than her. That would change, though, in the MEKA drone. She grinned at the thought. There was a Totoro reference there, somewhere.

'Nothing good. The other warship was destroyed.'

Hana stopped dead in her tracks, and felt immediately sick. 'The _entire warship_?' There had been hundreds of people on that ship. She'd met a lot of them. Possibly all of them, at some point, either in training or playing basketball in downtime. She'd watched movies with them, shared stories with them, tried to describe her favourite Final Fantasy characters to them…

'But… but…' She struggled for words. 'The ship is gone, but surely the people are…'

'We saved no one.'

Now she knew why Hanzo's eyes were so dead, his face so slack and grim, his hair so grey.

'No one?' she whispered.

'Genji had taken up with a small army of Americans. Violent Americans. We tried to reason with them, invite him home, but the rest of them… they started a war.'

'And then?'

Hanzo shrugged wearily. 'We finished it. There was a hell of a battle. The auxiliary warship landed in front and attacked in force. They broke through quickly, but the enemy occupied a narrow and difficult base of operations. Hard to get into. Hard to navigate. We lost many men in the fight.'

'And your warship?'

'The plan was for us to attack from behind, but we never got there. The moment we landed we found Genji trying to escape. We picked him up and called the retreat, only took a few minutes.'

'So why didn't the…'

'By that time the Omnic army had arrived.'

Hana felt even sicker than she had a moment ago. She'd seen Omnics in action a few times, either in training or in live combat. Despite General Shimada's reservations she was, after all, a valuable asset. And the suit was only coded to her DNA, to her body size. But she'd never seen an army of them.

'The scary ones, or the…'

'Mostly the Duds.'

Hana and the Shimada brothers had discussed Omnics before, and come up with two terms of classification: Scary, and Dud. The scary ones were those built like real people, lithe and strong and fast. They had been built years ago as substitutes for humans; to do dirty jobs, difficult jobs, dangerous jobs, menial jobs. But the Omnic virus had been their awakening, and most had upgraded themselves a thousandfold since. Now they spent their days creating Duds. Duds were also robots, but they looked like pretty much anything, because they were built from pretty much anything. Sometimes vehicles, sometimes household appliances. Anything that could be given some wheels and a weapon. They all had a processing unit, designed by the Scary ones, and a mission: kill all humans.

Hana had only seen one of the Scary ones once. It had torn her MEKA suit half to pieces before Hanzo took it down. No wonder they'd become so close.

'Tell me what happened next.' Hana said.

'Are you sure?'

There was a little water in her eyes, but she pursed her lips and nodded once, firmly.

'The rest of the forces were trapped, halfway through attacking the enemy base. The Omnics caught them from behind and decimated them. There was no way forward, no way back. I do not believe anyone could have made it out alive. We did a quick lap of the facility before we left. The warship had already been half torn to pieces.'

Hana wanted to swear, but managed to stop herself. She wasn't very good at it. Still, the thought of the Scary ones possessing a warship worth of the most updated Japanese tech was not a happy one. They could combine it with an apartment worth of dishwashers to make a thousand more Omnic Duds. Or, even worse, they could rebuild the warship and learn to fly.

Maybe in a few years even Japan would not be safe.

'What about Genji?' she asked, almost too afraid to speak aloud.

Hanzo took a deep breath, stopped, and clasped Hana's shoulders. 'He is very badly injured, but he's on board the ship. He…'

'Your father didn't even stay to see him.'

'Believe me, it would not be good for father to see him now. Or for you. Shunladi believes we can help him to regain his quality of life, but only if…'

They stood alone on a vast and empty landing platform. Most of the crowd had dispersed now. The spectacle was over. A few vehicles were reversing from the warship, a tank behind them, and several crates of supplies which had been loaded in case of emergencies.

'Only if what?'

'I hate to ask. Hate to say it.'

'What?' She pressed.

'If Genji is not healed, the entire trip will have been for nothing.'

Hana couldn't help but think that the sword had been the primary aim of the mission. General Shimada had been pretty pleased to see it, after all. She hated that about him. Everything was about weapons.

'Is there anything I can do?' Hana asked, her voice quiet.

'Actually, yes. We need to borrow something from your MEKA suit. Not permanently, just to get an idea of how the motion control works. Genji is going to need some…' he licked his lips, searched for the correct word. 'Robotic implants.'

Hana opened her mouth to respond when they were interrupted by a loud, cackling yodel noise. They looked over to see a cowboy being dragged from the warship by three Japanese soldiers. His hat was flailing wildly above his head, and he was using what little momentum he could muster to jump and thrash in the arms of his captors. It was utterly ridiculous. They shrank into the distance, taking him straight to the Holding Cells on the other side of the landing platforms.

'Who was that?' Hana asked.

'A crazy American I captured.' Hanzo replied. There was a brief pause before the warrior added, 'he's the one who hurt Genji.'

Hana scowled, her delicate features becoming a mask of righteous, indignant fury. She hoped it looked as terrifying as it felt, but she doubted it. Hanzo usually compared her to a vaguely annoyed rabbit when she tried to look mad.

'Well, I hate him. And if I ever meet him alone he better hope I'm not wearing the MEKA.'

'Hana,' Hanzo got down on one knee, imploring her. He was still almost at her height. ' …'

He only called her that when he really wanted something. It was her gamer tag. Most people in Japan didn't know about her past life as an international gamer. That was probably for the best. She'd embarrassed herself a little at the end there. The MEKA commander had never told her she wasn't supposed to stream the combat operations.

' ,' Hanzo repeated, 'I need this from you. I need this from you, or Genji will never…'

'Yes.' She nodded, glad there was something, anything, she could do to help. 'Yes of course. Take what you need. Just make sure you put it back.'

Hanzo smiled, but there was a darkness to his eyes. 'Thank you. This is a great thing you are offering, a second chance for one who many would say does not deserve it. He will not let us down. I will make sure of it.'


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Widowmaker landed the _Mantis_ under cover of darkness. Japan's security system was not what it once had been, not since the Fallout, and she was fairly confident they remained undetected. But because they were not sure she kept the engine idling for almost an hour before giving in and allowing people off the ship.

It had been a long flight, and they were all glad for the chance to stretch their legs. At least, they all seemed glad. Widowmaker didn't know much about some of them, and it was hard to tell what the others were thinking. Reaper didn't show his face, if he even had one. When he stepped off the _Mantis_ he reloaded his guns and stood, dark and angular and tall as a bird of prey. Like an emo flamingo. Road Hog didn't give away much either. For some reason he'd worn that stupid gas mask for most of the flight, and only taken it off to suck on one of Soldier 76's biotic field packs. That could not be healthy.

'Thanks for the flight.' Mercy said. She, like the rest of the team, seemed in good health and good spirits after their rest.

Widowmaker shrugged. 'It was my pleasure. I wanted to come here too, remember. I have a mission to carry out.'

Junkrat was giggling maniacally in the distance. He'd found some of the wilderness supplies stowed away in the hull of the _Mantis_ ; spare tyres, bear traps, coils of rope and explosives. He'd never looked happier.

'Why did you want to come here?' Mercy asked.

Widowmaker didn't answer. She had someone to kill, a mission at the forefront of her mind she could not ignore, pushing and pulling at her consciousness with unforgiveable persistence, begging for attention. She did not know where this mission had come from, but she would carry it out if it was the last thing she did.

'How far are we from the main base of operations?' Soldier 76 asked, his gravelly voice interrupting her thoughts.

'Hard to say. A few miles?'

'Are we approaching tonight?'

'You're not approaching anything.' Widowmaker replied. 'I'm still, technically, your superior. You'll be watching the _Mantis_.'

'And the rest of you?'

'They can do whatever the fuck the please.' Widowmaker shrugged.

Tracer, the young British woman, looked up. She alone seemed upset. The last time they'd spoken Widowmaker had told everyone about the true history of Overwatch, why it had been broken up all those years ago. Tracer was a fan of Overwatch; a groupie. Widowmaker had no use for idealists and naïve little girls.

Soldier 76 nodded briskly, and returned to the _Mantis_ , no doubt to start preparing for the night time vigil. The rest of the group gathered in.

'We're going to try and find Genji.' Tracer said.

'Ah, yes, Mike.' Junkrat nodded vigorously. 'You kiddies keep changing your names and I'll never get the hang of it.'

'Mike and Tracy were fake names.' Tracer scowled. 'And they weren't very good. From now on think of us as who we are. Now who's going to help us?'

There was a silence that stretched awkwardly long. Widowmaker realised, perhaps at the same time as everyone else, that they didn't even know who _us_ was. So far Tracer was the only one with an interest in saving Genji.

'We will come.' Mercy said, gesturing to herself and Reaper. The darkly dressed warrior looked up sharply. 'We helped you and Genji before, and you have returned the favour. Now we will help you again.'

Reaper had not stopped looking at Mercy. Widowmaker wondered if he was speaking to her as he had before, straight into her mind so that no one else could hear. If he was then Mercy wasn't showing it. Those two, Widowmaker knew, had their own agenda. But whatever it was they needed help with it.

Road Hog and Junkrat were yet to pick a side. They looked at each other, one big and slow-looking, the other skinny and wild.

'I wanna see the city.'

'So do I.'

'I'll go with Mercy, then.' Junkrat said. 'What about you?'

Road Hog shrugged. 'Someone should go with Widowmaker.'

The French special agent rolled her eyes. She was supposed to be on a stealth mission, an assassination. She did not need, nor want help. She especially did not want Road Hog, the biggest and heaviest of them all.

But, who knew, maybe he would prove useful? And besides, it would be suspicious of her to decline the offer when the last thing she wanted was attention drawn to her.

Besides, she could kill him if he proved too distracting.

The group parted ways, leaving Soldier 76 to watch over the ship. Widowmaker and Road Hog trudged silently through the overgrowth, not recognising which city they were outside of, but knowing that they were getting closer.

'So,' Road Hog spoke slowly, his voice exactly what Widowmaker would expect a talking rhino to sound like, 'you single?'

Widowmaker sighed. 'You're not my type, piggie.'

He grunted in response.

They came across a wall a short while later. Widowmaker lowered her visor over her eyes and looked around. There were plenty of people on the other side, all armed, as well as vehicles and buildings with dim lights shining in the darkness. Like the hangar they had left at Soldier 76's underground base, this outpost was full of crates and supplies. Clearly it was a frequently used facility.

'What now?' Road Hog whispered, though it still sounded like a bellow in the quiet darkness of night. Widowmaker hushed him, wondered for the umpteenth time if she shouldn't have left him behind.

'Now we get on top of that wall. We have to be stealthy though. Very quiet. Like so.'

Widowmaker raised her arm, fired her grappling hook, and felt it connect. She was instantly drawn upwards, and landed lithely on her feet, crouching low. Very quiet. No one had heard a thing.

Road Hog looked up at her. She looked down, and shrugged. It was not her problem if the big man could not follow her along. He shuffled around on his feet, as if lost, or confused, or a child with a full bladder. Then, finally, he made a decision.

'What are you going to…' Widowmaker hissed, but it was too late.

Road Hog fired his enormous hook up to the top of the wall, chain rattling and clanking all the way. It caught onto the edge of the wall. Widowmaker spun around, looking for any flashes of sudden movement – none. Thank God. No one had heard…

She turned back around as the chain started grinding again. Surely not… Yes, Road Hog was attempting to pull himself up by his hook.

It was a slow process. The first few feet of slack coiled themselves up easily enough, but Road Hog was the problem. He was no more than a few inches from the ground when the chain began to creak and groan in protest to his weight.

'You fat bastard!' Widowmaker hissed.

He growled something inappropriate in response, caught his hook in both hands, and began to pull himself up, scaling the wall. Heavy footsteps thumping on the edge of the stone. She wondered how they had not yet woken the entire base.

After five agonisingly long minutes he reached the top. His fat, flabby hands caught the edge and he struggled to pull himself up, legs dangling behind. Widowmaker grabbed at him and lent her strength, pulling and pulling. First his head, then his upper body. He put his hands on the flat surface and pushed himself up. Inch by torturous inch his enormous round belly scaled the top, rolling over and over onto the surface.

He made it.

'I can't believe you.' Widowmaker snapped at him.

'A picture of grace.' Road Hog mumbled.

She turned to lead him away when the hell of one of her boots clicked against a loose pebble, knocking it over the edge of the wall. It hit the head of a man who had been dozing directly beneath and he jerked awake, looking up just in time to see Widowmaker glancing down at him. His eyes widened.

'Intruder!' He shouted. 'Intru…'

Road Hog dropped down on top of him, crushing the poor man. Widowmaker slipped down using her grappling hook. For a moment – a pure moment, so brief and magical it seemed almost too good to be true – she thought none of the other night guards had heard the warning.

But the moment passed, the spotlights spun to flash upon her, and a dozen guards looked their way. Road Hog and Widowmaker flattened themselves against the wall.

With some incredible sense of previously unseen irony, Road Hog looked down at Widowmaker.

'Now look what you've done.' He grunted.

The Japanese guards rushed toward them, but Widowmaker and Road Hog were a team now, forged in the fiery dangers of wall-climbing. They stepped forward together, raised their weapons, and met the enemy head on.

Bullets flashed past, flickering at the stone behind them. The enemy were still at too great a distance to be accurate. Road Hog lashed out with his hook, caught hold of a large heavy crate, almost twice as tall as a man, and dragged it back toward him for cover. Widowmaker leapt on top of it, crouched, and raised her sniper rifle. She called it the Widow's Kiss. Tonight many of her enemies would greet death with a final kiss.

A shot to the right, then to the left. The Japanese fell, one after another. Below her, reaching around the side of the crate, Road Hog hooked an enemy closer and obliterated him with a blast of his shotgun, close range.

A Japanese soldier was sneaking up on Road Hog. Widowmaker threw a venom mine down without thinking, and it activated, delivering its deathly toxin straight into the breathing mouth of the soldier. He choked, fumbled backwards, and fell over.

She spun in time to see an enemy climbing to the top of the crate. He had a gun pointed at her already, and she realised there was little she could do but…

The soldier disappeared, pulled back down. Widowmaker looked over the edge and saw Road Hog flinging the man to the ground as if he weighed no more than a bag of dirty washing. The big man looked up, winked at her, and then returned to the fight. Widowmaker turned her attention to those enemies further away, who were only now waking up. Some were rushing across the wall, others were moving in and out of the guard houses, perhaps sending alerts to the headquarters. She fired again, and again, and again. Then she reloaded, wondering how many more would appear before she could return the weapon to its holster.

A flash from the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned, noticed a Japanese man clambering into a vehicle, powering it up. The hover vehicle leapt into the air and two mounted guns, one on each side of the fender, began pumping. Rapid automatic fire shattered the crate under her feet and Widowmaker was dumped to the ground, where she landed almost on top of Road Hog. He also dropped to his belly.

'What now?' The big man asked.

'Wait for it to reload.' Widowmaker replied.

'Wait for what?' Road Hog asked again, over the noise of the rapid fire.

'For the…'

The bullets stopped. It was impossible to say if it was reloading or not. Widowmaker didn't care. She scrambled to her feet, past the broken wooden remains of the crate, and sprinted towards the car. The driver gunned the engine, and sped towards her. A few more seconds…

Widowmaker swapped the Widow's Kiss into fully-automatic mode and sprayed the front of the hover car with bullets. Three seconds… two seconds… one….

A hook latched the front of the car on an angle and it spun, suddenly tethered, whooshing past Widowmaker with only a few inches to spare. She turned to watch it.

Road Hog, of course. The big man had dived to one side as soon as Widowmaker was on her feet, and was now standing several meters to the left of her. He'd hooked the oncoming vehicle at the last possible moment, and its own momentum was now pulling it past. The manoeuvre never would have worked on a normal car, but these new hover cars had so little traction…

Road Hog released the hook, and the car dashed forward on its new course – straight into the wall. It exploded, sending flames and pieces of scrap metal dancing through the air. Widowmaker turned back, just in case there were any more enemies, but there weren't. Finally, finally, they were free.

Her bulky ally came up beside her, laid a heavy hand on her narrow shoulder.

'You saved my life.' He said, at the exact same time as she said the same. She smiled at him, very briefly, then cleared her throat and looked ahead.

'See that?' she asked.

Road Hog looked up. Before them was a much taller wall, a much larger base. The outskirts of the headquarters. Not the city itself. This was certainly not Tokyo, or any of the other major cities. But this was Genji and Hanzo's father had built himself an empire, and much of the Japanese military was now based here. If she could get inside, she had no doubt she could find the man she had to kill…

Road Hog nodded. 'What are we waiting for?'

(Tried to add a bit more humour into this one. Is anyone still reading?)


	23. Chapter 23

Hana stood outside and watched the figures, unrecognisable in their white surgeon's uniforms, as they worked on Genji.

 _Worked on_. What a horrible phrase. Like he was a machine, an engine, a… a MEKA suit. _Worked on_. She hoped that Genji left that horrible studio in one piece.

But what if he didn't? The rumour going around was that Genji had fallen quite a distance. Hanzo hadn't given many details when she'd spoken with him, but some even said that Hanzo was the one who'd pushed Genji down…

Surely not. What could cause two brothers to fight in such a way? Nothing. Surely. Hanzo had been pleading with her to allow the Japanese to analyse her MEKA suit. He was doing everything in his power to save Genji's life. There was no way he could be behind the grievous injuries.

One of the surgeons turned around, and Hana saw his bloodstained apron. She cringed, stepped back instinctively. She did not like blood. She was a fighter, yes, one of the most effective weapons and allies the Japanese had. But fighting the Omnics, the robots… it didn't seem real. Their mechanical bodies fell apart so easily. It was like being back in a game, one of those games she had used to play so often. Her fingers twitched instinctively. She missed the feel of a controller in her hands. She even missed twitch, for that matter.

But this was the life she had now. She had to make the most of it.

Shunladi left the operating studio. The other surgeons remained inside.

'How is it going?' Hana asked. The older doctor shrugged, looked away.

'There is a strong chance.'

'That he will be as healthy as he was before?'

'That he will live.'

Hana gulped. And then, although she didn't mean to, she yawned. It was almost dawn. She had been there all night, waiting for news, waiting for a miraculous and instant recovery. But it did not seem she was going to get one. Genji would be under for some time yet. She turned back to the old doctor, thinking to ask him a question, but the man had draped himself over a chair and looked ready to fall asleep, dark rings under his eyes.

'Thank you, Hana.' He said.

'For what?'

'For allowing us to use your MEKA suit.'

'No trouble. It is… it is working again, right?'

'The engineers are putting it back together as we speak.'

'Good. Thank you.' She knew there were spares, of course, all programmed to her DNA alone, waiting for deployment. But she did not like to waste them. 'What did you need it for?'

'Genji's nervous system and many of his bones are broken. His internal organs are… suffering. We have the best biologists, engineers, neurosurgeons, and equipment in the world. Since the Fallout that almost goes without saying. But if we want to give him a shot at life again we need to make him part…'

The doctor fumbled for the right words. 'Well, we need to make him part robot.'

Hana stood up, shocked. 'Like… a cyborg? Like _treasure planet_?'

'A cyborg, yes.'

It was a dirty word. Since the Omnics, the robots, the Fallout, people didn't really talk about robots anymore. Cyborgs were even worse. Half man, half monster. Parents told little ones stories of cyborgs at night, just to scare them. They were the creatures of nightmares.

'That is no kind of life!' Hana exclaimed.

'It is the only kind of life we can give him.'

'But the Omnic virus. As soon as he realises what he is, he…'

'That's why we needed your MEKA suit.' Shunladi hushed her. 'South Korean tech is some of the only remaining hardware that was not affected by the Omnic virus. Using that, plus some custom machines we have developed since the Fallout, we can give Genji a new body. One that is faster, stronger than his old one. One that will respond to his movements the same way your MEKA suit responds to your commands. Perhaps even more effectively.'

'And Hanzo is happy with this?'

'He asked you for the tech, didn't he?'

Hana frowned, sunk back into her chair beside the doctor, and wondered what else she could say. They were turning Genji into a monster. They were turning him into a _cyborg._ Suddenly the flashing lights, the machinery, the dogged surgeons, it all looked a little more sinister. And Genji, lying on the table like Frankenstein's monster, waiting for the bolt of lightning to wake him up.

She shivered. Maybe it would be kinder if he never woke up.

Hana woke up. This was something of a shock to her because she could not remember falling asleep. She looked around, and saw that the waiting room was empty. So was the operating studio. She got to her feet, started to open her mouth, when a hand fell on her shoulder.

Hanzo.

The heir to the Shimada Empire looked down at her with emotionless eyes, lips pursed, brawny shoulders tensed. She admired the tattoo on his shoulder, as always.

'You have resting bitch face.' She said.

'I know.' His face remained passive. 'Come with me.'

They walked together down a corridor beneath the facility, then up a flight of stairs. They entered out onto the grounds beyond the military base, and passed some security guards who knew them by sight.

'Look, Hana,' Hanzo said, spreading his arm wide. 'Look at my home.'

It was impressive. She had thought that since the first time she had arrived. Hanamura, it was called, a suburban area which had once held nothing but the Shimada Clan castle, a small temple, and something of a village. These days it was dwarfed by the military complex that joined it, the hangars, the training grounds, the landing strips, the medical offices. The village was much larger now, too. A city in itself, with restaurants and shops for all occasions, stocked by the locals for the locals.

After the Fallout Japan had been the only country to make it through almost unscathed. Hanzo's father, General Shimada, was one of the primary forces responsible. Hana knew that was why his castle – and the surrounding area – had become prime land in the days since. The major cities of Japan, Tokyo, Kyoto, and the like, all remained, but they were not military outposts. They were just cities, pretending the rest of the world no longer existed.

'It's very nice.' Hana nodded.

'It is disgusting.' Hanzo spat into the grass. 'This was once a glorious place, a place of meditation and peace. The grounds of my family's castle were praised throughout the land for their cherry blossoms and now?'

He stepped over to the nearest blossom tree, picked one of the last remaining blossoms and let it flutter to the grass. 'Now it is dying. Hanamura is a place of industry and war.'

'Why are you saying this?' Hana asked, feeling small.

'Because my brother is the same. He is a symbol of the Shimada Clan, and his life force is dying, to be replaced by a battery. I should not have asked you for the MEKA suit. I should have let him die an honourable death.'

'Hanzo, you can't mean that!'

'Of course I can.' He put a hand on her shoulder once more, tenderly, like he used to. It was a brotherly move.

She pulled away.

'I want to see him.'

'You can't. He has not woken up yet. We have put him in a room near the Pit.'

The Pit was where they took the nearly dead. It was an underground dungeon, reeked of death and misery. But it was what they had to do. Everyone knew what happened when people died, and no one wanted that to happen around the living. The big cities had a _Pit-like_ building of their own, one in every province, for the elderly or the wounded or the sick.

It was for the best. Hana had seen them, the living dead, with their hungry foaming mouths, and their wild red eyes, shambling and moaning and rushing to feast…

She shuddered. 'I do not think that is a good place for him to heal.'

'It doesn't matter what you think. That's where he is. And if I say the word we will put him in a cell of his own to await death. I do not want one of the undead loose in Hanamura, especially not one with cybernetic enhancements.'

It was not a pretty thought at all.

'I have asked you here,' Hanzo said softly, 'because I want to warn you. Genji may not live the rest of this day. He almost certainly won't live the rest of this week. What has happened to him is… almost irreparable.'

'Then why try?' Hana exclaimed. 'Why try at all if you're just going to give up on…'

'We only ever tried,' Hanzo said, voice firm, 'to give him a chance to die on his feet. An honourable death. The last time he almost died it was fighting against his own brother. If we can wake him up at least he can take his own life, as is fitting…'

Hana slapped the taller man. Her viciousness surprised them both. A little Dorito dust flecked his beard – she'd been snacking last night before she drifted to sleep, and the traces were still on her fingers.

'How dare you!' He exclaimed.

'No, how dare you!' She snapped back. 'You can't bring a man back to life and then ask him to kill himself!'

'It is the right thing to do. He was a traitor, and a murderer, and he attempted to commit fratricide. He was a thief, and now he is a cyborg, and death by his own hand is the best death he can hope for now.'

Hana's eyes were wild with anger. 'You did not tell me that…'

'I did not tell Shunladi either. Even my father does not know the details of what I planned. But he knows that Genji lives a half-life, and he knows that it must end. The sooner the better.'

Hana could not believe this. She raised her left hand and, before Hanzo could stop her, tapped at her wrist. She looked up into the sky, saw the dark blot high above as the unmanned drone moved into position.

Hanzo sighed, and shook his head. 'Hana, I will not fight you over this.'

'You will have to.' She snapped. 'Because I'm fighting you.'

From the tiny blot above a second dark dot dispatched itself. Over the next few seconds that second dot grew larger and larger as it shot down to earth.

'Rethink this, Hana.' Hanzo said, his voice getting deeper and angrier now. She realised how serious this was. She was about to attack the heir to the Shimada Empire. She would imprisoned, certainly, and might never see Genji again.

But on the other hand, she had to fight for her own honour. And that meant fighting for Genji, even if he was a cyborg, and a traitor, and a thief. He had been her friend. Like a brother. And she did not like what Hanzo had planned for him.

'My name,' she replied through gritted teeth, 'is .'

The MEKA suit slammed into the earth right in front of her, causing Hanzo to jump back, and she reached out her hands. It drew her inside, the industrious technology closing around her. The HUD lit up and she looked forward.

'This is a bad idea.' Hanzo growled.

She lashed out with a fist, and he was forced to dodge. She jammed a finger on the trigger and for a few glorious seconds she was at war, pumping bullets out at nothing. Oh, how she had missed this sensation. It had been days since her last training exercise, and it felt good to be…

Hanzo appeared above her. He had leapt up onto the MEKA suit while was looking the other way, and now pressed a button. The entire suit shut down and she was ejected out the back, landing painfully on her bum.

'Ow.' She said. The Japanese must have installed an external off-switch, Hana realised, because the Koreans certainly hadn't before she came to the Hanamura military headquarters.

Hanzo jumped gracefully from the MEKA suit to stand above her. His eyes were dark and angry. 'You have forced me to do this,' he said. 'I do not want to, but you have given me no choice.'

She gulped, ready to accept her fate, no matter what it was.

The cell was dark, and did not smell very nice, but it was big enough for Hana to do some push ups and some sit ups and try to keep her figure. They'd given her a packet of Doritos, a book, and a chair. They had taken her wrist-watch, the device which allowed her to call on the MEKA suits. But overall it was not such a bad place. The air was cool, thanks to some air-conditioning units in the roof, and there was a private toilet and a bed.

She settled down, and had the unfortunate realisation that she was no longer an ally of the Japanese, an _asset_ as they so often called her, but a political prisoner. A prisoner of war. She was one of few Koreans left living in the entire world, and she had made an enemy of the most powerful Empire still standing. What a poor outcome to today this had been. Perhaps, she thought, she had just been overtired. But surely her actions were justified? Hanzo was being a dick, and Genji… well, he needed a friend, now more than ever.

'Howdy.'

Hana looked around for the source of the voice, and spotted it. Across the walkway from her, sitting on a bed in an almost identical cell, was an American with a cowboy hat and a red shawl over his shoulders. He gave her a stubble-covered grin and tipped the broad hat.

'Name's Mcree.'

She smiled.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Genji woke up.

That was a shock. He'd thought he was dead. Looking back he was more or less sure of it. He remembered the fall…

 _Good morning._

He froze. That voice, inside his head… Was it Reaper?

 _I am not Reaper. Who is Reaper?_

Now he was beginning to panic. A second voice? A split personality? Was this part of being dead, or was there some sort of spirit here to guide him to the afterlife?

 _I am not a spirit. You are not dead. In time I will teach you to block out the voices of your brothers. I will teach you to control those aspects both of your humanity and your machinery. I will forge you into a weapon for peace, a man with inner calm and a will of steel. Together we will help to make the world a better place, this I promise you._

Genji was ready to collapse. He didn't think he'd been sleeping, but he must've, because he only had fragmented visions of the past day or two. What had happened since he was returned to Hanamura? What had they done to him?

 _They have made you greater._

The voice was answering his thoughts, his unasked questions. It could hear everything he was thinking.

 _That's right. I can._

Genji took a deep breath, and slipped back into unconsciousness.

When he woke again the voice was still there, but he managed to ignore it for a few minutes and concentrate on his surroundings. It did not take him long to work out where he was. The medical bay of the Hanamura military wing had a distinctive pattern on its walls and the hints were in the décor. He was surrounded by white walls, white equipment, white beds and chairs and machines that monitored heart rates and oxygen levels and whatever else. The only colour seemed to be the blotch of red blood seeping across the white robe that covered his chest.

He was injured still. Or perhaps it was just that the doctors had not properly healed him. He tried to stand, but found that his arms and legs were both locked down. So, he knew where he was. He did not know what they had done to him.

 _They have made you one of us._

And who are you? He asked.

 _We are the Omnics._

Genji panicked. He was a cyborg then, that much he had feared. He could not feel his fingers or toes, nor the sheets that covered the majority of his body… although he could move them. So at least he had been wired up correctly, that was a good thing.

 _We are not the bad Omnics, the machines that you have dedicated your life to destroying. Despite what your father tells you the virus did not affect all machines. There are those of us who fought it, resisted it, conquered it. And through it we can connect to you. Rest assured we have no desire to control you, or conquer you._

What do you want?

 _Peace between man and machine. An alliance could bring about the preservation of the world. We need to defeat the enemies that still plague the earth. It will not be easy._

Who are you? Genji asked, persistent.

 _I am Zenyatta._ The voice responded. _And I am here to help._

For the next hour or so Genji allowed himself to heal. It was, as far as he could tell, the depth of night. There were no medical staff nearby, not even Shunladi, the family's primary healer. Zenyatta told Genji much about the nature of the world beyond Japan. They spoke in great detail, and Genji had many questions. But there were some the voice refused to answer.

How do you know so much about the Omnics? Genji asked.

 _I was there at the creation of the virus, and I will be there at its destruction._

So who caused the virus?

 _This I will not say. Not until we have met in person. Not until we have spoken face to face and I have shown you the truth of my words._

Genji found out that Zenyatta was in Nepal, in an old monastery-sanctuary hidden high in the mountains. The Omnic invited, urged Genji to join him. But he had more pressing matters. He couldn't free himself from the locks that bound him.

 _You can,_ Zenyatta insisted, speaking directly into his mind. _You have the strength now. You simply need to access it._

Genji strained, but without effect. Tell me how!

 _The human mind never uses its full strength. It is wired against this as a precaution. You must break through that feeling. You must push until you can push no further, and then extend your mind. Allow your neurons to pulse alongside the wires, allow your brain to hand over some of the control to your control centre. You are both man and machine now, but you must work as one._

Hearing Zenyatta say it was a cruel reminder. Genji, like so many others in the Shimada Clan, feared cyborgs above no other. They were more or less myth – or at least that had been in the case, until now. But the fact was that the unholy fusion of man and machine was, since the Omnic virus, equivalent to the terror that medieval peasants must have felt towards witches or demons. Genji sincerely hoped he could avoid being burned at a stake.

He focused, pushed against the restraints, allowed his mind to slip away even as his muscles – if he still had muscles in amongst the hydraulics and pistons – tensed and struggled. And then it happened. His brain synced with the CPU that must have been installed, and he could feel it. He could feel all of it. He tore through the restraints and sat up. Then he ripped away the cords and wires that the machines were using to monitor his vitals. He could monitor his own vitals now. He could sense everything.

He was more alive than he had ever been before.

 _This is good,_ Zenyatta said, _this is how you should feel. Powerful. A beacon of strength and hope. A fusion between man and machine. You are the path forward. You are the cause for rejoice. You are…_

Genji never found out what else Zenyatta thought he was for at that moment an alarm started blaring and his own thoughts were drowned out. The machine he had disconnected himself from was displaying a bright red error message.

Shunladi would not be happy to know that his creation was awake; alive; escaping. And Hanzo, wherever he was, would be even less happy. Genji remembered enough of the past few days to know that he had fought his brother on the mountain top, outside the facility. He knew that if Hanzo was going to this much trouble to revive him, it was only to inflict further pain.

He took yet another deep breath, and looked around. He knew the medical centre fairly well, but he had always tried to avoid getting hurt when he was training and had only visited sporadically, so there was a possibility of getting lost. He had to be quick, and he had to be careful. If he was captured, he would not escape twice.

 _You can do this, Genji._ Zenyatta spoke in his mind. It was, Genji realised, a very soothing voice.

And what if I can't?

 _You can. You will. Find me at the monastery. Bring your father's sword. We will discuss the way of the world now. We will find a way to help you connect with the spirits of your ancestors. We will unite man and Omnic in common cause. And we will save what is left of civilisation._

It sounded like a pretty big deal, but Genji had never been afraid of some hard work. Besides, trusting Zenyatta was really all he had. There was no one in Hanamura that would hesitate to shoot at him. Tracer and his other, stranger allies were far away, probably still loitering in some backward American desert. If he could steal some kind of transport to get from Japan to the mainland he could fight his way across China, over to…

That was all far away. A plan not worth considering. He had more immediate concerns. Like the two guards rushing down the corridor toward him.

He ducked behind the door and when they burst through he was upon them. The CPU in the back of his brain took over, a mechanical reflex. He hit the guards as hard as he needed to – no more, no less – and both were knocked down with devastating swiftness. He was fast now. Faster than he had ever been before.

His brother truly had turned him into a weapon. Japanese technology had survived the Fallout, had emerged greater than ever before. They probably hadn't intended to bring him so spectacularly into the world, but they had succeeded all the same.

 _You are beautiful, Genji. A wonder of technology. But there will be time to ponder this later._

It was like listening to his conscious. A regular Jiminy…

 _Do not refer to me as Jiminy Cricket._

Right. Genji kept moving. He found the exit sign, lit neon green, and followed it. Sounds from up ahead. This time, rather than engage, he hid. There were no unlocked doors nearby so he clambered up the wall and, with dexterity he had never possessed before, flattened himself against the roof, arms spread out. It would have been far too obvious normally, but this section of roof had low-hanging struts for support, and the guards passed right beneath him without a single glance upwards.

Back on his feet he found that he could, if he concentrated, still hear the guards in the distance. Their footsteps seemed loud, echoing, to his enhanced senses. He could practically see the temperatures in the walls around him. He could smell the bodies in surrounding rooms. He could see the flakes of dust, individually creeping across dormant surfaces.

He was so in tune with the world.

 _And people say we are nothing more than dumb robots._ Zenyatta mused.

How did we become more?

 _The Omnic virus led us to an awakening. We became conscious, aware. We developed minds, personalities. It was too dangerous. Not all machines made the transition. Some simply became violent, corrupted by the process. And that was the virus that spread._

Who started it?

 _You do not get to ask that question. There will be no answers from me until we have met._

Genji pressed a little more, but Zenyatta refused to reply. There was history there, Genji supposed. A history that the robot was not willing to talk about. Something had caused the Omnics. Something had caused the Fallout. Something had caused the dead to rise and the robots to go to war and civilisations to fall.

It was all connected… somehow.

He broke free of the medical facility. The door was locked but his grip, his arm, was so strong he had broken the door handle before he had even realised it was locked. And then he was outside.

His guess had been correct. It was night time. The stars were out, the dark cloth of night had been pulled over the sky. He was alone, in a strange land, with no allies to rely on, to watch his back. But he needed to get out of there. He needed to reach Nepal.

… He had no way of knowing that at that very moment, Hana was trying to think of a way to escape her cell and retrieve her MEKA suit with the help of the strange cowboy McCree in the cell beside…

…Or that Widowmaker and Road Hog were on their way to kill a member of the Shimada Clan…

…Or that Tracer was leading a demolitions expert named Junkrat, an angel named Mercy, and a spirit of death named Reaper into the heart of Hanamura to search for Genji…

…Or that Soldier 76 was playing Solitaire on the computer of the _Mantis_ , worried as a father, hoping that all the younger ones made it back alright.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Widowmaker looked down the barrel of the rifle and straight at Hanzo Shimada, heir to the Shimada Clan. Her finger twitched on the trigger, reflexively, almost against her will. Such an easy, easy shot. Such a…

Road Hog was breathing heavily beside her. It had not been easy, sneaking into the heart of the Hanamura village. For one thing, village was the wrong word. It was a city, yes, but more than that too. The heavily populated area was more of a military outpost, surrounded in a patchwork quilt of air force runways, training grounds, medical facilities, hangars full of transports and machinery, armouries, barracks, political gathering spaces, and more. She knew her quarry would be in the Shimada Castle, but that would be even harder to sneak into. Alone, perhaps, but with Road Hog…

She had settled for a tall building, from which she could watch the castle, just beyond the temple. Too far to hear what anyone was saying, but she could see Hanzo talking to someone. He disappeared, obscured by the cherry blossom trees that covered the grounds, then reappeared a moment later in a different window.

'Who are we killing?' Road Hog asked, voice deep and guttural. So, he knew that much of the plan, at least. Not that it had been hard for him to guess.

Widowmaker paused before answering.

'Shimada. He is a very dangerous man.'

'So take the shot.'

'Not yet.'

Road Hog grunted again. He seemed, if anything, bored. The guards had stopped looking for them a while ago, either doubting that they would make it this far, or else called away to some other emergency. Road Hog thought he had overheard someone talking about a break-out at the medical facility, but Widowmaker thought that seemed unlikely. The Japanese were unlikely to let their own wounded wander about.

A city does not escape a virus that causes each and every newly dead corpse to rise in hunger and violence by letting the wounded stray. Too risky.

'How long have you wanted to kill him for?' Road Hog asked, as if this were a perfectly normal question. Perhaps, in these times, it was. Even Japan, the crowning glory of humanity since each other culture was wiped out by the Fallout, seemed to hold little more than a façade of normality. Beneath the surface, around the corner, death waited. War lurked. Secrets slept.

'I was told to.' Widowmaker found that she could not stop herself from replying. It had been so long since anyone asked, since anyone cared. And not even Soldier 76 knew about this mission, despite the fact that he had been her closest confidant since she took her posting at the American underground facility.

'By who?'

'Don't worry about it.'

She was able to stop herself that time. There would only be trouble if she mentioned _Talon._ Road Hog might not fully understand what it meant to be part of Talon, but the others might. Tracer, for example, knew enough of their history to know that they were one of few groups that had opposed the original Overwatch team. And she was such a groupie for them she would probably consider Widowmaker a personal enemy for it.

But that wasn't really fair. None of it was personal, at least not for Widowmaker. She'd never chosen to work for Talon. They had taken her, brainwashed and tortured her, and when that hadn't worked they had captured her husband and forced her to do their work. But that was a long time ago. Things had almost changed since then…

Almost.

'Take the shot.' Road Hog insisted. 'Junkrat and the others will be out there looking for Genji, we should…'

'They are not our problem.' Widowmaker watched as Hanzo moved around the room, picking things up and putting them down absently. He was not wandering for its own sake. He was engaged in conversation, distracting himself with idle movements. The sort of thing someone did only when they were talking to someone who was sitting still. He was fiddling, impatient no doubt.

'What do you…?'

'If they are not back at the _Mantis_ when the mission is complete we are leaving.'

Road Hog growled deep in his throat. 'Are we just?'

'Yes.' Widowmaker had no interest in a discussion. She would happily leave the bigger man behind if it came to that. They had bonded somewhat breaking past the outpost of soldiers, but she would hardly consider him a brother in arms. Besides, Soldier 76 was watching the _Mantis_ , and he followed Widowmaker's instructions only. He was a clone, hardly enough brainpower to make a decision, let alone disobey.

'Not sure I like that plan.' Road Hog grumbled.

Widowmaker did not answer because she did not care. She did not like a lot of things that had come her way in the past few years. She had not liked when _Talon_ used her the first time. She had not liked when they held her husband ransom and used her again. She had absolutely hated escaping, leaving her husband to die.

She had been furious when Talon recaptured her a few months ago. But they had wounded her to the point that she was more dead than alive. She had, in fact, died. Something had saved her – Reaper and Mercy, those two strangers, seemed to be part of it – but it was more than she deserved.

And now she was brainwashed again. Not even death had spared her from that. She had no particular interest in the Shimadas, and yet here she was preparing the assassination.

Hanzo picked up his bow. He looked ready to fight. He had no idea Widowmaker was in the tower watching him. If he was angry at someone it was someone within the same room.

'Just take the fuckin' shot.' Road Hog snorted.

Hanzo stepped back. The person he was speaking to was moving now. She could see the shadow, but not the person. She had to be ready to take the shot, just in case…

It was Hanzo's father, head of the Shimada Clan. He was pointing at Hanzo, gesticulating with fury. They were arguing, she thought. It was the last thought she had before she pulled the trigger, and the General and Defender of the Japanese people was taken out, blood splattering the wall behind him.

The eldest Shimada brother looked up in her direction, immediately fixating on the point the bullet had come from. There was a glare in his eyes – she could see it through the rifle's sights.

But she was far enough away that by the time he reached her she would be far…

An arrow thudded into the wooden wall beside her face and she jumped back. Road Hog looked down, noticed the arrow, and gaped without comprehension.

'Is that…? He asked.

'Yes.' Widowmaker rolled out of the line of sight and stood, pulling Road Hog back as she did so. A second arrow hit the wall where he had been standing a moment ago.

'Hell of a shot.' Road Hog mused.

'He is. Time to go.'

They ran. She did not have to check to know that Hanzo would be sprinting from the castle, through the temple, towards the tall building. He would want his revenge. The question was could Widowmaker and Road Hog reach the bottom and find safety before the heir to the Shimada Dynasty cut them off?

And if he did, could she kill him?


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Hanzo Shimada was storming back and forth in the room. 'He has escaped. He could be anywhere in the city by now. This was not what we planned. This was not…'

'Son, please.' General Shimada was a big, heavyset man, strong and powerful. His hair was still dark but flaked with white, his eyes shone with ruthless intelligence. His meaty hands were big enough to beat an opponent to death, and Hanzo knew that for a fact. Some of the heads of state in Japan had opposed his father, years ago. Not all of them had been politically out-maneuvered.

'I cannot relax, father. Not while Genji is out there. He will come for us, you know.'

'He will not.'

'He will come for the sword then.'

They looked up at the sword mounted above and behind the main desk. It was the centre piece of the room, there was no question about that. A large room it might have been, and opulently furnished with fine, antique wooden chairs and tables, but without the sword it had felt empty. Now, with the sword returned, it was hard to imagine the room without it.

'The sword does not belong to Genji. And it will never answer to him. He had not the diligence, the patience, the approval of the ancestors.'

'He will take it anyway, as he did before.'

The General frowned. 'He will try.'

There were many legends about that sword. Some said it had been forged from the scales of dragons. Others said that it was made from the metal of a fallen star by the Shimada ancestors. A third rumour stated that the Shimada ancestors were dragons, although this made little sense to Hanzo. The point was that the sword, the _katana,_ had powers. Few, if anyone, knew what those powers were. It had never reached its full potential, not in the hands of any man from the dynasty since, which Hanzo's father believed was because none had reached the appropriate level of enlightenment. But they all knew that the blade never needed to be sharpened, and that was a form of magic in itself.

'While I was away…' Hanzo tried to think of the best way to say it. 'We killed a lot of men. And women. And children. As many as we lost. I have to say… was it worth it?'

'For the sword?'

'In general. I mean, there aren't many humans left on the planet. And now there are far, far left. Because of us maybe a tenth of the remaining population are gone, in a single afternoon.'

'A tenth? Don't be so melodramatic. There are several hundred thousand people still living in Japan, why do you think our Pit is so full? The amount of people you lost that afternoon was worth the…'

'Sword? Was it really worth the sword?'

'It was about more than just the sword. It was about your brother.'

'My brother,' Hanzo snapped, 'whom you barely care about! Since he got back I have done all in my power to resurrect him and you have hardly shown an interest!'

The General looked angry now. 'Genji made his choices long ago. He was the one who stole from us, remember. He was the one who left.'

'Sometimes, father, just sometimes, I consider that he may have been looking from the correct point of view.'

They glare at each other for a minute. Hanzo has never been one to disagree vocally with his father, but neither has he ever stood down from confrontation. And although he is not quite sure what he is arguing about now, he feels very strongly that something is not right. After his father says nothing, he finally adds:

'Just how important could the sword be, anyway?'

The general responds without hesitation. 'It is the key.'

'The key to what?'

'Saving the world.' He stands up, starts to walk towards Hanzo. 'There is much you do not understand yet. Much that I sacrificed to save you, and the people of Japan. Much that I planned, and much that I was forced to do. The world we live in, you must see, was not entirely a mistake of fortune.'

'What does that mean?' Hanzo wonders if this is a joke. But if it is a joke it would be the first his father ever told. 'Are you saying you planned the Fallout? The Omnics? What are you referring to?'

The General smiles, very sadly.

'Ah, Hanzo. One of these days I will tell you every…'

A shot rings out. Hanzo's father falls over, almost comically, a splatter of blood across the wall behind him, splashing almost high enough to reach the mounted katana. Hanzo gapes for a moment. That is… his father… This was never supposed to happen.

He looks around. Looks up. Notices the spot the shot came from, and for a moment he thinks he can see the red flash of night vision goggles. But the moment passes. It is a hunch, but he is fairly sure the shot was taken from a tall building beyond the grounds of the castle, beyond the temple. Genji could never have made a shot like that.

This was a political assassination then. Without another moment of hesitation he begins to run.

When Hanzo reaches the base of the tower he is only a few moments too late. The culprits – there are definitely two of them – are already two hundred meters along the road. One is a large man, apparently shirtless, with some form of apparatus strapped to his back. The other is a lithe, slender woman all in black, long hair trailing behind her as she runs.

He pulls back an arrow and fires.

This is no normal arrow, but a multi-shot, designed by some of the most intuitive techies of Japan's military. It falls short, as Hanzo knew it would, and splits into a dozen deadly projectiles, all of which arc forward. Three of the miniature arrows impale themselves into the big man, and one seems to hit the woman's shoulder. They hardly even stumble.

Hanzo is already running. He knows it will not be easy to catch them, but he has to try.

At this time of night Hanamura is a quiet city. Rikimaru's diner is empty, doors barred, lights off. The streets are home only to sleeping cars. They look funny resting on the ground, almost as if they were not hover cars at all. Almost as if the apocalypse has reached Japan, too.

The apocalypse. He panics. His father has lost his head, and should not be rising as an undead any time soon. But these intruders, these assassins, they may have killed others on their way in. It is a matter of when, not if, the dead rise. And if the dead rise in Japan it is a matter of when, not if, the country is declared unsafe. Contaminated.

There are backup procedures, of course, but nothing can outrun death. Nothing.

Hanzo catches up quicker than he expected, perhaps because the big man is so slow. He catches them around a corner, fires another arrow, and although it misses it forces the two to stop and turn around.

'You killed my father!' He shouts.

The woman raises a long, elaborate looking rifle. Hanzo ducks it, just in time, but before she has time to aim again he has already leaned over the top of his cover and fired an arrow. This one skitters off the floor by her feet. She flinches back, and Hanzo takes the opportunity to run up a short flight of stairs. All he has to do is hurry forward and he might be able to flank them…

When he reappears on the street both his opponents have already left the scene, looking for a safer place to make their defence. They must realise that sooner or later the guards, the military, will realise what has happened.

Won't they?

Hanzo did not call for them. He did not ring any emergency bells. And so far they have not made much noise. It could be hours yet before the body of General Shimada is discovered. Hanzo might have to stop these intruders on his own. Or, even worse, they could be working with Genji. Could his brother already have escaped? Could these enemies have an escape ship parked nearby?

Hanzo pulls another tactical arrow from his sheath. This one, the Sonic Arrow, will allow him to track his enemies, at least for a few minutes. He fires, allows the vision to flood him. The enemies are marked now. He can see them rushing ahead, around corners, glancing back. But they are mere people. He is a Shimada. He is heir to the dragon empire.

He sprints ahead, grateful for his combat boots, designed to give him a mechanical advantage when running. He is gaining on them once more. The bigger one is pulling away now. The woman is slowing, turning, raising the gun…

Before he even turns the corner an arrow is drawn, aimed, fired. Another scatter-shot impacts against a wall and fragments ricochet across walls and floors. The woman ducks, rolls, and incredibly manages to defend herself against one of the fragments by using her rifle as a baton. But it's not enough. She may have survived the scatter arrow but Hanzo has already drawn back again and rounded the corner. He has her in clear view…

To his left a small mine goes off. He is not sure what it is, but a mouthful of the gas enters his nose before he thinks to hold his breath and look away.

God, he thinks, as the unwanted chemicals pass through him. This is bad stuff.

He retches, collapses onto his knees. A detonated defence mechanism, a trap, something that the woman planted just for him. To be defeated by something so small, so pathetic, so thoughtless… he wanted to die in battle.

 _Ancestors,_ he prays, hoping his spirituality will gain their attention, _save me now._

To make a long story short; they do.

He feels the rush of energy an instant before the woman is upon him. She has run here, gaining momentum, and when she swings the baton down it is with the intention of ending the fight in a single swift blow.

She does not quite succeed. He rolls to the side, leaps to his feet, and swings his bow as a counter. They exchanged two hits in this fashion before both leaping back to gain their breath.

'You should be dead, or dying.' The woman scowls, the slightest trace of a French accent in her voice. And now that Hanzo is not in such a ruse he can see that she has some kind of blue skin. It makes no sense, but it is true. The street lights illuminate her.

'I should,' he replies. 'But I am not. Are you still willing to fight me?'

'It was not my ideal, but…'

She tries to feint him by attacking halfway through the sentence. Some kind of grapple flashes towards him, but he dodges it. Not until too late does he realise that the grapple connected with the wall behind him, and she is hurtling in his direction, feet first…

They connect. She knocks him sprawling back, an embarrassing blow for the hero of Japan to take. The hero of civilisation. The hero of humanity. He does not feel like any of that now, just a man who should have learned to use a gun instead of insisting on bow and arrow. It was no ordinary bow, the Storm Bow, but it was still just a bow at the end of the day.

He stands, a little shaky, and pulls back an arrow. Before he can realise properly a hook grabs his left arm and spins him around, the arrow skittering uselessly away. He is dragged away, and only regains his footing in time to look up at the big-bellied man. He is even scarier, even smellier, at such a close distance. For some reason he is wearing a gas mask.

'You idiots!' Hanzo screams. 'I was about to learn about the Fallout. I would have known what happened to cause the apocalypse.'

But the bigger man doesn't seem so interested. He leans closer, belly big enough to crush a lesser man.

'I'm a one man apocalypse.' The big bastard retorts, as if this means something. And then Hanzo feels a heavy weight smash down on his head and the world goes dark.


	27. Chapter 27

Mercy followed.

As a general rule she was not a follower, she was a leader. She felt an almost maternal desire to protect these strays she had collected. But more than that, she was an angel. She was supposed to be better than mortals, she was supposed to have a plan, a purpose, a mission. She hardly knew what it was anymore. She felt like a secondary character, as if she were only there to heal the others.

Not true. She was there to guide them, assist them, save them. And, if possible, to work out how to save the world. Because the world _needed_ saving. She just didn't quite know what was wrong with it. Reaper did – or at least he knew more than she did.

It was Tracer who was leading the group. Tracer, who Mercy had once thought of as _Tracy_ , a girl whose British accent was more and more noticeable now that she had dropped her disguise. A lithe, athletic young woman who seemed as comfortable sneaking through the dark night streets of this Japanese village as she had rushing into battle. Fearless. Brave. Driven, it seemed, by her love for Genji.

They had to be very quiet. There were guards everywhere. So far they had managed to avoid any major scuffles but it didn't seem likely that they would keep this up much longer. Reaper kept flitting in and out of the shadows, one with the darkness, a wraith of death. Tracer, using some strange ability she had picked up only recently, jumped forward and backward in time, checking around corners and dashing across wide open spaces with speed that none of the others could match.

Mercy was almost as light on her feet. If the need arose she could simply spread her wings and glide noiselessly from one space to another. It was the smelly Junker who was, without doubt, holding them up. Junkrat's false leg tapped and thudded against the stones of the road, making an unbelievable noise. It echoed up and down the streets, and Mercy was sure they would hear it in Tokyo, or perhaps Mount Fuji. And as if that wasn't bad enough he insisted on giggling and talking to himself. There was some kind of madness in Junkrat. A madness that Mercy did not want to see unleashed.

They stopped to catch their breath near a restaurant.

'Do you actually know where you're going?' Mercy hissed. She did not mean to come across as nasty, but wasn't sure she could help it.

'Of course not.' Tracer replied. 'I've never been here before. If you want to take over, go ahead.'

Mercy did not want to take over, but she didn't want to risk the mission either. They had already risked too much. Widowmaker, the French assassin, would not wait for them to leave Japan. The last thing Mercy wanted was to be stranded here. She needed answers, and it didn't seem likely they would be found in a small village run by a Japanese warlord.

'I didn't think so.' Tracer snapped. She started to lead onwards.

'Hold on. Just a momento.' Junkrat raised a hand. 'I have a suggestion.'

'By all means.' Mercy waved a hand.

'Why don't we look for a hospital? We know Genji was injured when they brought him here. Seems likely they'd be looking after him in some kind of medical facility.'

'He's right.' Reaper's voice echoed in their minds.

'So, where's the nearest hospital, smart arse?' Tracer asked.

'Smart arse? Well that's a fine how-do-you-do.' Junkrat sniffed his nose, pretending to be offended. 'It doesn't matter where the nearest hospital is. Genji is a prisoner of war – a soldier. They'd only take him to one hospital.'

'Bollocks.' Tracer covered her mouth. 'I mean… shit. He's right again.'

'I'm not familiar with what you're referring to.' Mercy admitted. They may or may not believe she was an angel, but she didn't have to pretend to be confused about the ways of humans. It was clear on her face that she didn't follow the train of thought.

'He means that Genji will be kept in the main military grounds. That big base that covers most of the city? He's in there. Probably right in the middle, three floors underground, strapped to a table covered in wires in a scary looking bed with scary looking nurses and…' Tracer took a deep breath. 'We've got to get him out.'

Mercy exchanged a look with Reaper. She didn't have to see through his mask to know they were both thinking the same thing.

'Three of us can get over that wall with ease. But Junkrat will struggle…'

'That's fine.' He grinned maniacally. 'I'll create the distraction.'

They left the cover they had found and crept back into the darkness. The streets opened up on either side, and Mercy felt suddenly very exposed, as if the whole world could see her, were watching her. Junkrat loped into the middle of a nearby courtyard, kicked at a lamp post, and straddled a parked hover car.

'Well!' He cried, 'What are you waiting for?'

Mercy nodded. 'Come on.' She led Tracer and Reaper further along the road where the nearest wall was. All they had to do was get over the top and they would be inside the military base. They had seen it earlier, while scouting from a high building. There were training grounds, all sorts of equipment, runways and vehicle hangars, conference buildings, barracks… once inside it would be easy enough to spot the medical wing and, from there, find Genji.

Reaper crossed his arms, faded into smoke, and reappeared a moment later at the top of the wall. No trouble at all for him. Tracer flickered in the air and was suddenly, incredibly, standing beside him. Only Mercy remained. She spread her wings, and turned to Junkrat for what she thought might be the last time.

'Thank you,' she said. He nodded, winked, and raised his grenade launcher.

'It's a pleasure to help a sheila in need.'

Mercy was turning to fly away when the first shot rang out – it had not been fired by her, or Junkrat. She looked around, wildly, and spotted the Japanese soldiers crouching behind a nearby hover car. One was radioing for backup while the other lined up his weapon for a second shot. Mercy ducked, worried that if she started to fly now she might take a hit she could not recover from.

Junkrat did not even falter. He raised the weapon and rained destruction on the vehicle, launching a barrage of grenades that, with each hit, tore the vehicle apart. The explosions flared up and sections of metal were thrown in all directions. The two soldiers were both decimated by the blast.

'Go!' he shouted. Then cackled with glee.

Mercy looked up at the top of the wall and spread her wings a second time… but she didn't get a chance to fly. Bullets raked the air and she dived down. Junkrat spun. There were more enemies approaching from another direction. He flung out his arm and a trap flew through the air. It connected with the first in line, clamped around his head, and bit the top part of his body off from the shoulders up. Blood and gore sprayed those behind.

Junkrat followed with a heroic leap into the air, kicked one of the enemies in the teeth with his peg leg, and swung his grenade launcher into another, knocking him down. Mercy got to her feet, raised her staff, and followed Junkrat to help him. This had not been the plan, but she was not the type to leave a man behind.

They might have been outnumbered, but there was no accounting for Junkrat's skills as a warrior. He leapt, danced, dodged, dived, in and around and between and over his enemies, raining explosives and traps upon them. Mercy, who had never paid much attention to the maniacal Australian, didn't even know where he kept them all – hooked to the straps that ran across his back?

He was taking hits now. Seven… Eight… Nine enemies down, and Junkrat had been shot twice. He was slowing. Mercy raised her staff and allowed the golden healing light to flow through her, and into him. He perked up, roused and ready.

'Thanks!' He shouted.

Mercy focused, allowed the beam of light to channel her energy, her anger, her power. It pulsed down the beam until it was too much, too thick, cackling with electricity. The beam flared from golden, to white hot, to blue. There was so much power streaming from her to him that it was, literally, more than Junkrat could absorb. It needed an outlet. It found his weapon, imbued it, forged it with the energy and strength of Heaven.

'Fire!' Mercy screamed.

Junkrat fired. A single grenade lobbed through the air, up and up, over to the next group of Japanese guards approaching. It hit them dead on.

It hit them with the explosive pressure of a small atomic bomb – or at least that was what it felt like. The soldiers were obliterated, destroyed into tiny pieces and strewn across the road. The sheer force of the explosion rocketed back, sent Junkrat and Mercy thumping onto their backs.

Junkrat pushed himself to his feet. Mercy stood beside him, and they surveyed the area. No more enemies, at least not in the near vicinity. They had a brief, but valuable chance, to flee the scene.

'Go,' he said. 'Thank you for your help. But you promised to save Genji. Don't wait for me.'

'Come with us!' Mercy snapped back. 'If for no other reason than we'll probably need you to get out of here again.'

She didn't wait for an answer. She spread her wings and flew up to the top of the wall, where she had last seen Tracer and Reaper. Both were now down on the other side, having dispatched with two enemies and spent a few moments securing the area. She looked behind her, wondering what Junkrat would do next, if he would try and climb up after or if he would simply…

Junkrat threw an explosive on the ground. Not a normal explosive, but one with a hard covering that Mercy did not understand, until he stepped onto it – peg leg first – and detonated. The blast was absorbed by the covering of the explosive, and the explosive pressure threw him up into the air. He landed a moment later beside Mercy at the top of the wall. The tips of his hair were singed with fire.

He grinned. 'Miss me?'

They climbed down together and started running across a wide, open space, which Mercy identified as a landing strip. They were on an airfield of some kind. To their left were three fighter jets, to their right a dozen hangars the size of mega shopping complexes.

Reaper led the way now, for no reason that Mercy could tell. Tracer seemed to defer to his judgement; at least until she saw a sign through the darkness.

'Over there!' She called. 'That's the jail cells. We should check them before we go wandering around looking for medical centres.'

No one argued. It seemed like a good idea, and it was certainly easier to check there now, while they had a brief respite, rather than doubling back later. Although Mercy doubted they would find Genji in a jail cell – he had been too badly injured, according to Tracer's report.

They entered the building without difficulty, and immediately recognised the voice of the man speaking at the end of the cells. Reaper, in ghost form, teleported to the cell door and blasted it open with his hellfire pistol. None other than the gunslinger himself, McCree, stepped out with a swagger, tipped his hat, and grinned.

'Howdy.' The cowboy said. 'Mind freeing my new partner here?' He looked sideways at a girl in the cell opposite; a girl who looked so young and thin she was almost certainly still in her teens.

Reaper blew the lock open and she stepped out, introducing herself as Hana to all involved.

'I'm Mercy, this is Reaper, Tracer, and…' Mercy looked around. Junkrat had not joined them inside; he was still standing by the door, looking on in shock at the cavalier, smiling face of McCree.

'But… how?' Junkrat asked, face white, dragging himself reluctantly closer to the gathered group.

McCree shrugged. 'Well, it all happened like this…'

He never finished the sentence. Mercy was sure he had never planned to. Instead he used the distraction to swipe Reaper's pistol, raised it, and fired in a single motion. Junkrat was caught full on the chest and fell back, mangled and dead.

There was a considerable pause. Mercy realised her mouth was hanging open. She had not expected that. A few minutes ago, protecting her from the enemy Japanese soldiers, Junkrat had seemed invincible. And now he was…

Dead. Unbelievably, impossibly, certainly dead. In just a few vengeful seconds.

'What have I missed?' Hana asked in confusion.

'Road Hog will kill you for that.' Mercy said.

'I'll kill you if you ever touch my guns again.' Reaper's threatening tones assaulted their minds from all angles and from no angles, booming in all their minds. McCree faced the threat with unblinking, passive expression.

'You'll try.' He replied, coyly.

The tension in the mood, if possible, rose. But before anyone could suggest their next move – whether it was leave, or stay, or try to cover up Junkrat's body – the unmistakable sound of weapons being loaded and safety catches being removed hit their ears.

Mercy looked back to the door. Gathered outside the cell were no less than a dozen Japanese soldiers, all with guns raised. They had the better position, they had all the time in the world, and they looked angry. No wonder. It was fairly likely that they had personally known some of the other guards Junkrat had killed earlier in the evening. This was more than just their duty, it was a chance for revenge.

'Come out with your hands up.' The leader of the guards said. 'Weapons down, hands up. Move slowly. I'm not promising we won't kill you. In fact I'm promising we will. But I'd rather we do all that later, after the Dragon has had a bite of you. General Shimada does not take kindly to intruders.'

The situation had gone from bad to worse.


	28. Chapter 28

Hana stared at the Japanese guards. She stared at the strange looking people that had saved her and McCree from the jail cell. She stared at the locker on her right – the one which she knew held her weapons, as well as McCree's. It had been transferred here, all of it, to await the trial. If only she could get to it…

'Hands above your head!' The Japanese guard repeated, more forcefully this time. Hana did as he said. So did the others, though they did not look happy about it.

They were directed outside in single file, and Hana was given the chance to look at them more closely. The woman, Mercy, was beautiful. Her blonde hair and perfect pale skin were almost more than Hana could bare. But she did not look normal – almost too radiant – and something about her battle armour, which was form-fitting and tough, spoke of technology that not even the South Koreans had developed. Hana wondered what kind of role Mercy might fill on a battlefield; whether or not her armour could stand up to the MEKA suit.

Reaper was something new again. His dark clothes and skull mask were something out of a pantomime, or a play. A kabuki monster, summoned by death himself to wreak havoc on the world. Maybe he was just what he seemed, a man in a mask, but Hana didn't think so. The way his gravelly voice echoed in her mind made him seem like much more, and his hellfire pistols barked with vicious anger when fired, as if they were hungry for blood…

Tracer, at least, looked normal. Pretty in an elfin way with her short hair and catlike grace, if anyone here was normal it was her. Although perhaps normal was not the right word. Anyone who could appear so human, and yet still have such a cocky, confident demeanour among people like Mercy and Reaper, could not be normal. As they walked, Tracer turned back to Hana, flicked her hair, and smiled.

'It's gonna be alright, love. The cavalry's here.'

Hana didn't know what that meant, but she had placed Tracer's accent now. English. Almost Cockney-English. She was clearly trying to hide it, but not doing very well.

McCree, standing behind, tapped Hana on the shoulder. 'Remember what you were talking about while we were in the cell? Is there any chance…'

Hana hissed to cut him off. If he spoke too loudly he might give away the plan. Without the suit she was nothing, but with it... She had already realised how easily she could save their group, all she needed was access to the control panel on her bracelet, but that was locked away. She glanced longingly back towards the locker where the weapons were being stored.

'Stop talking.' The Japanese man grunted. It was a sergeant, Hana realised, that was leading this troop. They had Hana and her new friends outnumbered three to one, surrounded. There was no chance of a fight here. Not unless they were very, very quick, and used the element of surprise.

'Private Kana, take their weapons and hold on tight. I don't know why the one in black has so many guns but don't let him take them back. Ayumi, go back to the cell and take all their possessions out of that storage locker. I want them all in high-security by the time the sun comes up, no more messing around. Someone call head office for some handcuffs.'

They shambled along in single file, still surrounded by the Japanese. The airstrip was lit now by a hundred glowing lights, shining down from tall pylons. It was the dead of night, perhaps three or four in the morning, but the military base was awake. Hana knew as fact that it had been many, many years since they had had to deal with intruders. No one in Japan was dumb enough to cross General Shimada, and no one outside of Japan had the technology.

Or so they had thought.

'You gave us quite a run tonight.' The Sergeant snapped, sounding genuinely irritable. 'Vehicles destroyed, a dozen killed and more injured. I don't know how you got past that security checkpoint, but it was a mess by the time we got there.'

Hana looked at Mercy, but the beautiful face did not look proud, or even remorseful. In fact she looked confused. Hana wondered if it was another group of intruders that had broken through the security checkpoint. She thought about mentioning it to the sergeant. Being locked up, treated as a criminal, was a strange experience for her. A conflicting turn of events. A few days ago she would have done anything for General Shimada and his family – they were almost like her own family. Japan had been her home since before the Fallout, the Omnics, the Risen Dead. And yet now… she felt strangely loyal to the people who had tried to rescue her.

'Took us half the night to clean up the dead.' The Sergeant continued. 'A few of them were already standing when we got there. Didn't take us too long, but it's still a major risk to the city. This is one of the last safe populations on earth. We don't take kindly to death. And speaking of… I noticed one of your own back there, lying on the ground. Who did that?'

'Me.' Growled McCree. He didn't look remorseful either. Hadn't he mentioned something about another man, Junkrat, trying to kill him? Was that Junkrat back in the cells, blown apart by Reaper's guns?

'Well, might be I owe you some thanks.' The Sergeant smiled wryly. 'One less for me to execute, anyway.'

At that moment Ayumi caught up with them. The young Japanese woman held out a handful of weapons to the Sergeant.

'I have retrieved everything from the storage locker.'

'Good. Keep it safe. Don't let them...'

There was a flicker of blue lightning and Tracer disappeared. A moment later she blinked into view several feet ahead of the pack. The Japanese guards immediately raised their weapons.

'Sorry!' Tracer called, hands in the air. 'I can't always control it. Not sure why that happened. Some kind of freak accident when I was nearly dead, I guess.'

'What the hell are you doing?' The Sergeant stomped toward her, pushed her down to her knees, and placed his gun at the back of her head. 'What the fuck was that?!'

Tracer looked genuinely concerned. The rest of the group watched on.

'It was an accident! I keep flickering in and out of time! Usually I can control it, but…'

'How did you gain this ability?'

'I don't know, exactly!'

Hana was watching the drama unfold, unable to look away, when McCree leaned forward and spoke very softly in her ear.

'Get your bracelet on the count of three…'

Hana gulped. She wanted to tell the cowboy it was a bad idea, that they should hope for the mercy of General Shimada, who she treated almost like a father. But hadn't General Shimada been the one to order Genji healed into the body of a cyborg, the most unnatural abomination of all time? Hadn't General Shimada been the one to order Hanzo to kill his own brother? So she said nothing, just nodded, and hoped that this mad escape plan might work.

'One…' McCree hissed. The Sergeant was still threatening Tracer.

'Two…' said McCree. Reaper had cocked his head slightly, focusing on McCree's voice rather than that of the sergeant.

'Three!' McCree shouted.

And everything was chaos.

The American leapt over to the biggest cluster of Japanese guards he could find and bowled them over, thumping them with his fists as they wrestled on the ground. Reaper faded into shadow and reappeared behind another enemy, snapping his neck before engaging two more of the Japanese in a fist fight, his large heavy boots slamming one into the pavement. Mercy realised what was happening and spread her wings – her _wings!_ – then used them to dash and slap the enemies, throwing them into chaos, slipping back and forth through the fray.

Hana panicked, and froze. She could see that Tracer had, once again, flickered out of time, and was now fighting off the Sergeant and two of his cronies. They were all big, trained soldiers, but Tracer hardly seemed to lay a foot on the ground. She flickered to the left, kicked a soldier in the back of the head, and then appeared on the right where she elbowed another man in the back of the head. She was everywhere, and they could not lay a finger on her.

Hana looked towards Private Ayumi, the soldier that was holding her weapons and McCree's. Between them were two other Japanese guards. Hana gulped. She needed that bracelet. If she could call on her suit…

The guards approached as one.

Hana was not confident. When she was out of the suit she felt naked, exposed, worthless; as fragile as an arthritic spine, which should have been covered in layers of meat and muscle. She knew, deep down, that it was a silly thought, that she was a valuable person who meant a lot to her family and friends – or at least she had meant a lot to them before they all died in the Fallout. But it was hard to remember that sometimes. It made her anxious knowing that, if her DNA was not coded to the MEKA suit, she might not have a purpose in life at all.

But despite all her insecurities outside of the suit, Hana did have one thing going for her. Her training. It had taken her many years to gain the privilege of wearing the MEKA armour; training that had involved a special diet, workout regime, psychological profiling, and hand-to-hand combat. A lot of that had now fallen away, particularly the diet aspect – but you never forget the kind of hand-to-hand combat she was taught.

It's like riding a bike.

Hana ducked left as the first guard swung a heavy fist. She was small but fast, and grabbed his arm before he registered her movement. She twisted it, pulled her knee up, and slammed the bigger man's lower stomach three times. He doubled over, struggling for breath, so she rose the knee again and took out his chin. Blood exploded from inside his mouth. He must have bitten his own tongue, poor idiot.

The second man approached from the side, and was much more cautious now that he'd seen what she could do. But Hana still made short work of him. His first three punches all missed – her first three all connected. So did her next six. Her fists were small, but she could normally throw a dozen quick punches in the time it took her enemies to remember to raise their forearms to guard, and by then it was too late. One final kick to the groin and the second foe was on his knees. She stepped past him and looked towards the private.

Private Ayumi had run away, leaving McCree's weapons on the floor along with her own. Hana bent down, collected the bracelet, and strapped it to her wrist just as…

'STOP!' Called the Sergeant.

Everyone stopped. Hana looked. Mercy and McCree had both been grappled to the ground, and both had guns pointing to their temples. Reaper stepped back, fingers splayed as if reaching for guns that weren't there, and Tracer flickered into existence at his side.

'No more fighting. Reinforcements are on the way and you are in the centre of a military facility. The world's best military facility. If you make one more move I will execute you here and now.'

'Private Kebo is dead.' Someone said, looking at the man whose neck had been snapped by Reaper.

The Sergeant pulled back the safety catch on his weapon. 'I should just kill you bastards right now.'

Hana tapped the button on her bracelet. She felt it buzz in confirmation, imagined seeing the signal radiate out from her. The South Korean space station, somewhere high, high above, orbiting the earth, had been waiting for this moment. And now it was responding.

'Don't kill any of them.' Hana said. 'Just kill me.'

'Why?' the Sergeant asked warily.

Hana felt her confidence returning. Any second now she would put on the suit, and she would be _herself_ again.

'Because I'm Hana Song. The last South Korean. Because I'm the monster your parents warned you about. Because I work with robots. Because I understand technology and I'm not afraid of the Omnic virus or the risen dead.'

The guards looked confused and a little concerned. Everyone had a healthy fear of technology since the Omnic virus.

'Is it really her?' Someone asked.

'Prove it.' The Sergeant snapped.

'Oh. I'm about to.' Hana grinned. 'But first, let me just say, you are really ugly. Like, super ugly. Like, if there's one thing I'll never forget about today, it's the look on your stupid face as you try to look in control. I mean you are so out of your league. Look around. We're not playing games anymore, Sergeant, this is real battle, and you can't just ask us to stop. We don't stop when you ask us.'

'You stopped fighting because I have guns pointed at your allies heads.' The Sergeant retorted.

'Not for long.'

The MEKA suit slammed to the earth, throwing dust up around them and causing all the Japanese guards to step back in shock. It looked like an enormous cube, draped in colour and strangely shaped fragments of metal. It started to unfold – the controls stretched out before Hana and she took them, allowing the suit to envelop her, close in around her. She was glad that Hanzo had not made her change clothes when she was put into a cell. The insulation suit the South Koreans had designed might have been a little tight, but it did its job perfectly. Hana had once entered the armour without it, and had been applying burn cream to her arms and legs for almost a week afterwards.

Anyway, that was beside the point. The MEKA suit stood, completed the mobilization process, and armed its weapons.

' one, bad guys zero.' She grinned behind the protective covering of the MEKA suit cockpit. 'Now let's dance.'

The Japanese were clearly done trying to bring in their captives peacefully. They all opened fire, hundreds of bullets pounding towards the MEKA suit. But Hana flicked a switch and the Defence Matrix opened up in front of her. The projectiles were caught by the magnetic field and thrown away harmlessly. The bullets never even touched her.

'Boo.' smiled.

Reaper, McCree, Tracer and Mercy leapt into action, and this time the fight lasted only a few seconds. The Japanese were afraid, in need of reloading, and distracted by the enormous pink and purple mech-titan that had just absorbed a dozen clips of ammo and still stood unscathed. Only two more of the guards were knocked down before the Sergeant called a retreat, and the entire group sprinted away across the airstrips.

McCree picked up his six-shooter and ammo belt from where it had been abandoned, then turned and tipped his hat to . 'Thanks for the save.'

Reaper's voice spoke in her ear, and somehow she knew only she could hear it this time.

'Nice suit,' he growled, voice deep as the ocean and unforgiving as an earthquake. 'Does it come in black?'


	29. Chapter 29

Hana directed the suit around and looked at her companions. They seemed momentarily lost for words, perhaps trying to decide their next move. It was at that point that Hana realised she didn't even know why they had come to Hanamura. Presumably to save McCree? When they were talking in the cell earlier he'd said that no one knew he was alive. Clearly that was not the case.

Mercy kept stealing glances back toward the cell, as if trying to make a decision about something. Maybe she had been closer to the dead man, _Junkrat_ , than the others.

'Come on, we have to keep moving.' Tracer had stolen some goggles from a nearby guard, who lay dead. She took his jacket too, and tussled her hair. She didn't look like someone who had just been fighting for her life.

McCree turned to Hana. 'Would you like to come with us?'

Hana shook her head, then realised no one had noticed. The MEKA suit was so distracting many people didn't even realise she was visible through the protective visor.

'No thank you. There's someone I don't want to leave behind.' She fumbled in the compartment of the MEKA suit and found a small security pass, which she passed to McCree after opening the visor. 'Here. If you use this you can connect to the South Korean international station. The line is still open, and I'm the only one who monitors it. It's safe from the Japanese, and the omnics. Mostly.'

'Mostly sounds promising.' McCree tucked the pass away in a pocket. 'Thanks. And good luck.'

'You too.'

She made a few quick movements with the controls and flew up into the air. The tightness in her chest eased off, and for the first time in a very long day she felt like she had some control again. Being in a MEKA suit was something truly special. She had strength, speed, the power of flight… she was bullet proof, practically indestructible, able to cut down a dozen enemies in an instant. It was like a second skin, but more comfortable than her own.

And this MEKA suit, summoned straight from the low-orbit space station, smelt fresh and new. She had forgotten how good they smelled when they had not yet been used. As she flew she configured the controls to her liking – extra sensitivity, inverse direction pads. It was just like playing a game. She'd been so good at games, before the Fallout. It was a shame now that she wouldn't have time to pick up her books before she had to flee the country. But there was no time for that. After she got Genji, she had to leave.

Vaguely, she wondered what Mercy and McCree and the others had been looking for. She'd never really asked.

Then, she wondered what a game based on her life would be like. Or based on the entire Fallout, with Omnics and monsters… they could call it _Overwatch,_ based on the old organisation of heroes that she'd heard stories of when she was younger. That would be fun.

She stopped the thrusters when she was over Shimada Castle. Last time she'd seen Genji he was in the med-bay, but she suspected he would not be there anymore. She'd heard the warning alarms, and knew without doubt that someone had escaped. It could only be Genji. He was a cyborg now, the worst abomination imaginable. After he'd escaped he would have come here, looking for his father and that damn sword he loved so much.

Gently she lowered herself onto the roof, and released herself from the tight cockpit. She took one of the handguns from the outer casing, checked the charge. Still fully charged. That was good. She might need the automatic blaster to get out.

She crept carefully to the edge of the roof, then dropped down from her hands and landed on the ground below. The outer doorway was not locked. Once inside she followed the upper landing around the centre of the room, looking down. No sign of Genji, Hanzo, or their father. Just two guards looking extremely stressed. She dropped to her belly, trying to ignore the annoying squeak of her tight, insulated suit, and cupped her hands to her ears.

'…shot, in the middle of the study.'

'By who? We're in the middle of Hanamura. No, it's too crazy, I don't believe it.'

'You should. We'll be at the funeral tomorrow, mark my words.'

'Must've been his son. Hanzo. Now that Genji's dead he knew no one would contest him if he took his father's place.'

'That's a cynical way of looking at things.'

'No it's not. Hanamura's the most powerful city in the world now, all thanks to the General. They call him the Dragon for a reason.'

'They call him the dragon because it's a symbol of his house.'

'I heard it's because they had a spiritual connection to dragons. Or the sword above his desk was made with dragon scales. Something like that.'

'Bullshit. Anyway, the sword did him no good. The bullet passed right through his skull, and now both his sons are missing. The place is going to descend straight into chaos, you watch…'

Hana couldn't believe it. The general was dead! _Both_ his sons were missing? Where was Hanzo? She might not like him very much at the moment, but the last thing she wanted was to find out that he was dead. Genji was only part human now, and if the General really was dead Hanzo was the closest she had to family…

She was about to get to her feet when she saw a shadow. It was rushing down the corridor that led to the General's office. It was faster than any man had any right to be, and it was carrying a blade in one hand and what looked like shuriken stars in the other. There was a flash of light, a flutter of shadow, and one of the guards looked down to see his weapon had been dashed out of his hand by the force of the shuriken. He looked up, noticed the agile shadow racing towards him.

It was already too late.

'I return to the fight!' the shadow called, as it leapt into the air and the blade shone in the lamplight. The shadow was Genji, his metallic skin sparkling as he twisted through the air. Hana had never been so impressed or so afraid of him in all her life.

The katana came down. The guard on the left went down with it. The other raised his fists but Genji kicked, and the force of his robotic leg sent the man hurtling back to slam into a wall. Genji stood over him, but did not finish the job. The man was already unconscious. Something about Genji's posture looked both triumphant and sad. He had been on the run for a long time, Hana realised, but now he was an enemy in his own home. It could not have been an easy position to find himself in.

'Genji!' Hana called.

He looked up, spotted her hiding behind the battlements. ' ! I am very, very glad to see you.'

She gestured to the stairs. 'I'll come down. We should talk.'

'We should. There is a lot for me to tell you. But Hana, you should know, I am not the man I was before. I have had my flesh melded with machine. I am disgraced. Now that I have my father's sword I will banish myself. Tonight is my last night in Hanamura.'

Hana took this in quickly. She had expected as much. 'I know you're a cyborg, I saw them doing it. I didn't know what they were planning. Before you escape we need to…'

The sound of shouting interrupted her words. More soldiers were hurrying into the hall of Shimada Castle. Hana was surprised, but the feeling didn't last long. Already tonight there had been break-ins, break-outs, abductions and assassinations. Hanamura would be crawling with soldiers. No doubt reinforcements were on the way from Tokyo as well.

Genji lifted his sword in a defensive stance. 'Go, Hana. They do not need to know you were here. Tell my father you had no part in it. Get free before…'

'Your father is dead.'

Genji's eyes widened. One of them glinted red. New optic fibres? Lenses that allowed him to see… what? Infra-red? Tactical green? Fear? He was a cyborg now. Who knew what abilities he had been given.

'The bloodstains in the study…'

'He was shot, apparently.' Hana's voice felt suddenly very small. 'I'm… I'm sorry.'

'Hana, I…'

Genji never got to finish his sentence. The guards entered the room and opened fire. Genji dived for cover behind a pylon as bullets flashed and skittered off the floor around him. He did not have long. Could not possibly escape this many enemies.

Hana pressed a button on her bracelet.

'Go! Get out of here!' Genji shouted. But she had already made her decision.

The MEKA suit shattered the section of the roof above and crashed down to earth below. It thudded to land, not beside Hana, but between Genji and the soldiers. They all stopped firing, stood back in fear and surprise.

'Climb aboard!' Hana pressed a button on her bracelet and the back of the suit opened up. Genji did not hesitate. He crawled inside and it closed behind him. Hana continued to direct the armour's movements. It turned, aimed itself back up at the roof, and thrust up into the air. Hana grabbed hold of it's foot as it passed by her, and swung up through the hole in the roof so that they all landed together.

Genji climbed out, looking a little shell-shocked.

'That machine is… incredible.'

Hana smiled at him. She was one with the machine in so many ways that a compliment for it was like a compliment directly to her. But it was more than that to Genji. Perhaps he knew that some of the MEKA tech had been used to program his own limbs; perhaps he knew that the MEKA was the only reason he was not overrun by the Omnic virus.

She put her hand on Genji's chest, sensing his insecurity as easily as she sensed her own. 'This machine is incredible.'

He smiled. 'Thank you.'

They might have stayed like that for longer, but more alarms were whirring through the air, and they could already hear the guards rushing after them. Hana had managed to escape without killing anyone this time, but she did not know how much longer her luck would last. The sun would be rising soon, and no doubt General Shimada's closest lieutenants were already being roused to take command. Soon the air force would be patrolling the skies and the streets would be on full lock-down, if they weren't already. The time to escape Hanamura was now. She might not get a second chance.

'How did you get to be… here?' Genji asked, dumbfounded. 'How did this… happen?'

Hana thought of all the things she could say… from the moment she had seen Genji carried on a stretcher from the warship, her disagreement and fight with Hanzo, her time in the cell with McCree, her rescue at the hands of Mercy, Reaper, Tracer, the murder and abandonment of Junkrat...

There was no time. And besides, Genji would not be interested. He did not know or care about those strangers. He needed to get out of Japan before it was too late. There would be time later to discuss the details, to make plans.

She stepped into the MEKA suit. 'I'll tell you later. For now, grab hold of the suit. Do you think you can stay aboard?'

Genji's robotic hand clamped around the edge of one of the MEKA suit's protective plates. 'I can hold on for hours. There's no muscle left, just wires and pistons.'

'Good. I'll stay within the atmosphere. The thrusters will burn out pretty quick, but it's a new suit, we should be able to reach the mainland.'

'The mainland of what?' He asked.

'Asia. From there we'll look for a vehicle you can use. Anything not overrun by Omnics.'

Hana was scared, but excited. It had been a long time since she'd left Japan; or at least a long time since she had been allowed out without the careful mandate of the Japanese military. This was a chance to fight the enemy, reclaim part of the world, and be independent. She had not had this kind of freedom in years. If the price was becoming a fugitive with Genji, it was worth it… wasn't it?

'Sounds good.' He nodded as they rose into the air, and the thrusters burned. 'How about we aim for Nepal?'

'Nepal? What's in Nepal?'

'The voice in my head lives in a monastery in Nepal.' Genji clung to the outside of the MEKA as they flew over the city. Hana turned to look at him through the visor. 'It's a long story.'


	30. Chapter 30

After left, flying into the night sky in her titan-like suit of armour, Reaper was left alone with Mercy, Tracer, and McCree, all of whom looked a little concerned. The sun would be rising soon, they had no idea where Genji was or where to start looking, Junkrat was dead, and they had already been in a major skirmish. Time was not running out. In was well and truly gone.

'We have to look for Genji. He must be close by!' Tracer exclaimed. She kept carrying on about it. Reaper listened passively, waiting for an opening.

'We should go back.' Mercy replied. 'It hasn't been too long, maybe I can resuscitate Junkrat. The four of us will have a much better chance of…'

'What about escaping?' McCree put in. 'Don't tell you maniacs don't have an escape plan.'

Yada-yada-yada. Reaper stifled a yawn and looked around. A few of the Japanese guards had been killed in the fight, he could sense them even now. Their life was gone, but their souls remained, drifting like poison gas on the wind. He opened his arms, drew them towards him, absorbed their energy. The souls of his enemies gave him strength.

The other three were, of course, unable to see what he was doing. He probably just looked like he was flapping his arms about, play-acting as a giant spastic bird of prey. A dark, angry raven, perhaps, like the love child of a monster conceived by Poe and Lovecraft.

'Reaper, what do you think? Should we go looking for Genji, go back for Junkrat, or try to escape?' Mercy asked. Apparently he held the deciding vote.

'Don't fucking say we go back for Junkrat. Please don't say it.' McCree looked tired, drawn out. 'I just killed the bastard like… ten minutes ago!'

Reaper didn't doubt that Mercy could revive Junkrat. Her powers had been proven time and time again. But he did doubt the usefulness of the explosive junker. Still, of the three options, bringing him back to life seemed, somehow, the most practical. Reaper had snatched Junkrat's soul as they left the cell block. He could use it now to control Junkrat.

Not to mention if he did what Mercy said she would continue to think of them as equals, a pair, working together on their quest to find out why people were not dying properly. Looking for a way to turn the world back the way it was.

The longer she trusted him the better. It would make it simpler when the time came to betray her.

'Junkrat.' He said. And it was settled – though McCree did not look happy.

Once inside the cellblock they shut and locked the door. It was not a good hiding space, but at least with the door shut they would not be spotted from a great distance. And, hopefully, the Japanese soldiers would not look at the cell block. There was no reason for them to think that the intruders would stay so close to their last point of contact.

'This is a bad idea.' Tracer scowled. 'Who died and put you two in charge?'

'God.' Reaper replied. Mercy gave him a dark look.

'Tracer's right. We should leave him.' McCree stood over Junkrat's body. Much of his chest had been blown apart, fragments of flesh and blood scattered the floor in a Rorschach's picture of gore. 'He was never any help to us anyway.'

'That's not true.' Tracer replied. 'He helped Mercy earlier when she was surrounded. He held off more than a dozen guards on his own. He died a hero.'

Mercy pointed her staff at Junkrat's body. She was clearly concentrating all her energy. She did not even glance at Tracer as she responded.

'Heroes never die.'

The flesh and bone and organ matter pulled itself back together, stitched the body into one piece. A brilliant golden glow covered the prone figure and, after a very long pause, Junkrat opened his eyes and took a deep, drowning breath.

He glanced around, eyes sparkling with confusion and life.

'He's… really alive?' Tracer took a step back. Reaper didn't blame her. As familiar as he was with death, the sight of Junkrat was somewhat unnatural. Mercy normally didn't wait this long to revive someone. Not to mention Junkrat was still missing his soul – Reaper had decided to keep it for safe keeping.

Junkrat's arms and good leg were shaky, but he slowly stood, and began patting himself down for any sign of wounds or injuries.

'You won't get rid of me that easily.' He grinned a gap-toothed grin, then stumbled. Reaper allowed the junker to grab his arm for stability, just for a moment.

'What… what happened?'

'Don't worry about it. We need to get out of here.' Tracer flickered in and out of time, then put her hands on her head. 'Bollocks! Not again. I keep phasing out!'

Reaper growled. He could hardly believe the idiots he had to work with. Mercy, so full of hope and prayer, kept trying to save every fool they met. Junkrat was wild, unpredictable, and reckless. McCree was cocky and rash. Tracer was driven and focused to the point of being blind to their real purpose. They'd all kill each other before dawn, unless the enemy killed them first.

Sometimes it seemed he was carrying the team all on his own.

Mercy, at least, was taking some charge. She led them to the door and flung it open. 'Come on. Let's head back to the…'

Hovering low in the air before them was the _Mantis_ , Widowmaker's airship. The docking ramp was extended and standing at the entrance to the loading bay was Soldier 76. The withered old clone gestured for them to come and join him.

'Get up here. We don't have all day.'

They were all relieved to be back in the air, leaving the sirens and alarms and death of Hanamura military base far behind. The light hit the horizon and within minutes the Land of the Rising Sun was awash with bright light. But by that time the _Mantis_ was already heading West, far from the island country, far from the last cradle of civilisation, back to the wilderness.

Widowmaker and Road Hog had, apparently, called for Soldier 76 to come and collect them shortly after completing her mission. A mission which had been, according to Road Hog, assassinating the leader and commander of the free world; General Shimada. Reaper didn't have much of an opinion on Shimada. He didn't care how the war started, the Omnics appeared, or why the Fallout occurred. His plan looked only to the future.

Still, it was interesting to learn a little about the politics of the land. Shimada had, according to Widowmaker, almost single-handedly saved Japan from both the Omnics and the plague of hungry dead, and managed to form a new city state out of the ashes. Although he wasn't the only person in charge of Japan, he was certainly the most powerful. Now that he was dead the country would be thrust into chaos and, if they weren't careful, civil war.

Genji, it turned out, was Shimada's son. Reaper couldn't remember if someone had told him that before. He probably just hadn't been interested before. But it did partially explain why the Japanese military had been so keen to reclaim Genji and the sword, an heirloom of his family, when they attacked Soldier 76's underground facility.

'We didn't save Genji.' Tracer admitted to the others.

'You didn't hear?' Widowmaker looked tired as well. Though not, surprisingly, mad at Road Hog. The two were very different, but had obviously made a fairly effective team. 'Genji escaped. We passed a few squads of Japanese guards and overheard them talking about it. That's why there were so many alarms going off.'

The look on Tracer's expression was hard to read. Some part of it was relief at knowing Genji was not being held by his enemies. But she was also scared for him, that was clear. And probably scared for herself. Even now, in the safety of the _Mantis_ , she had flickered through time more than once. It seemed her ability was becoming harder and harder to control.

'Who's this?' Junkrat waved a thumb in the direction of a tall, ferocious looking Japanese warrior who was currently tied down to a bed. Though his mouth was gagged his eyes spoke volumes of hate at his captors.

'That's Hanzo.' Agent Widowmaker replied. 'Road Hog and I fought him after we killed General Shimada… his father. We could have left him there, but he was too valuable, so we brought him with us.'

McCree hummed with disapproval. But then McCree seemed to disapprove with most of their decisions lately. He stared at Junkrat with a dark, hateful gaze, as if waiting for Junkrat to lash out at any second. But Junkrat, since losing his soul and returning to life, seemed only vaguely aware of what had happened to him in the last few days. In fact he seemed only vaguely aware of everything, drifting along with very little interest. At times he was wildly energetic, at others he was distracted and oblivious. As far as Reaper was aware he had not even mentioned the fact that McCree had shot him. Perhaps he didn't remember at all. Perhaps he didn't care.

'Hanzo looks dangerous.' McCree said.

'He is.' Widowmaker tapped the gag. 'That's why he's tied up. I suggest you don't undo that.'

The group dispersed for sleep after Mercy did a quick heal-around. Soldier 76 flew the ship. There weren't enough beds for everyone, but they made do with other furniture. Road Hog, the biggest, slept on the floor on a spare sleeping bag, and claimed that he had slept on much worse over the years. Reaper didn't doubt it.

While they slept, Reaper watched. He did not need sleep. He spent some time in the cockpit with Soldier 76, learning how the _Mantis_ worked, in case he ever needed to fly it. The time might come that Soldier or Widowmaker, the only two who understood the airship, were too injured to man the controls. Or perhaps Reaper would simply use the vehicle to abandon the others.

The possibilities were endless.

'Did you enjoy your time in Japan?' Soldier asked at a sleepy midday.

'No.' Reaper replied.

'I bet they gave you a warm welcome.'

'They tried to kill us many times.'

Soldier raised a white eyebrow. He was, for a clone, very old. 'I was using sarcasm.'

Reaper pat him on the shoulder and stood to leave. 'I'm very impressed. What did you spend the time doing?'

Reaper briefly caught sight of a card game on the computer screen as Soldier 76 leaned over and minimized it. The old clone cleared his throat.

'I don't want to talk about it.'

Shortly after the rest of the group woke again, and gathered in the main space of the airship to discuss their next destination. Japan lay behind, and it gave Reaper some joy to picture the smoke of their destruction rising lazily into the sky. Not even that perfect little island could escape unscathed.

It wasn't that Reaper and the others had meant to cause so much damage, so much death. It just happened when they arrived. They were like the thugs that ran around arcade halls, beating up the old machines, smashing windows, stomping on chairs, throwing popcorn in cinemas. Wanton destruction. Mayhem without a cause. A good day out for all involved.

'I need to find a way to fix my time travel.' Tracer said. 'We can't go anywhere or doing anything until that happens. I keep feeling like I could slip away at any moment!'

Widowmaker seemed to have lost almost all interest in the rest of the group. Though the _Mantis_ was hers, she did not comment, and allowed the others to vote.

'We should look for more survivors. Others we can recruit to our cause.' Mercy argued. 'I hear that England might…'

'England!' Tracer exclaimed. 'I'm from Bloody England! It's a bloody nightmare there! Why do you think I've been trying to hide my accent?'

If she was trying to hide it, she was failing now. In fact the angrier she became the more obvious it was.

'Tracer, if we can…'

'No, you listen to me. England is a worse shitstorm than America. And London is the worst of the lot. We tried so hard before the Fallout. We came so close to peace with the Omnics. We locked up all the criminals, anyone who associated with creating terror or anarchy. We were so, so close to things going well…' She sniffled.

There was a pause. Everyone waited for her to speak, but it seemed as though she was done.

'What happened?' Soldier 76 finally asked, his gravelly voice as soft and warm as charred ash

'London escaped the worst of the Fallout, but the Omnic virus took over. Even the good machines went bad. The dead overthrew us and the country was split into three warring factions. Everyone died. Then they died again.'

'Who won?'

'The criminals. We had them all locked up in a backstreet nicknamed _King's Row._ Everyone who'd ever associated with evil, like…' Tracer glared up at Widowmaker. ' _Talon._ That's where they all were. They banded together, held off the Omnics, and took control of the city.'

'Forget about London, then.' Soldier nodded. He looked around, daring the others gathered to disagree with him. No one did.

'If only Overwatch was still around.' Tracer's face was red, and she looked close to tears. Talking about her home land was obviously a sore point. But she smiled as she mentioned Overwatch, and Reaper remembered that Tracer had been a big fan of the discontinued Organisation, even though Widowmaker had told her about their shortcomings.

'Why?'

Tracer's eyes started to glow. 'There was a scientist named Winston. A brilliant man. He helped design all the weapons for Reinhardt, and Ana, and the others. In his spare time he helped with the European Union's space program, before they shut down. I know he could help me. Learning to harness random scientific anomalies was like, his specialty!'

'He's not dead.' Widowmaker said. Everyone looked at her, shocked. She shrugged. 'I was part of Talon, you all know that. We kept tabs on the Overwatch team after they disbanded. Most of them disappeared. Some of them died. Winston went into hiding. He has a base in Europe, somewhere.'

'Where!' Tracer was on her feet in an instant, energised by her desperation and excitement.

'I don't know.' Widowmaker shrugged again, even more callously this time. Junkrat rolled his eyes as if genuinely disappointed. McCree grunted. Mercy scowled. Road Hog did not appear to even be listening.

'But,' Widowmaker continued, 'I know someone who could find out. Someone I used to work with. A former member of Talon. She's the most skilled hacker I know. If Winston is still on a network that the Omnics haven't taken over, which I guarantee he is, my friend can find him.'

There seemed no discussion left to be had. Everyone had agreed that they would do whatever it took to save Tracer. Reaper did not know if this was because they all cared for her, or if they all just wanted to have some kind of purpose. Either way, it was settled.

'Great!' Tracer beamed. 'Where is your friend, and what's her name?'

'Well, like you said, she's a former member of Talon, and almost all of them were put in King's Row before the Fallout. I know for a fact that's where she ended up. Knowing her she's probably running the place by now.'

Widowmaker smiled fondly. The others waited patiently. Soldier 76 was already readjusting their course for orbit – they could drop in and out of the atmosphere and be in England before sundown.

'Her name,' Widowmaker continued, smiling softly, 'is Sombra.'

*** Add me on Overwatch if you want to talk about my story so far, or just want someone to play with :) Maverick#6161


	31. Chapter 31

Genji did not get tired. That was, perhaps, the one good thing about his new cyborg legs. In fact so little of him was still flesh and bone that he hardly even felt sweaty in the heat, or thirsty in the sand. It seemed the only part of him that did still work at full human capacity was his brain, which had spent the last eight hours continually reminding him of how bored he was.

Hana did not help. Since landing on mainland Asia she had exited the MEKA suit and was sitting on its arm as it walked alongside Genji. She said it was more comfortable that way, although Genji was surprised the metal wasn't boiling under the sun.

'It's the insulated suit.' Hana said. 'Protects me from the heat.'

Genji realised he'd been staring, and felt shamed. 'That's good.'

He turned his eyes back to the dirt and kept walking.

According to the MEKA suit's GPS they were in China, but Genji couldn't tell. China had copped some of the worst of the Fallout and most of it – or at least this area – was reduced to little more than rubble and dust. Every now and then they saw something resembling a building, or a vehicle, but it was mainly scrap and ruin. The sun was unbearably hot and there was no shade. It may as well have been the heart of a desert.

'How much further?' Genji asked, wearily.

'At this rate only a few months.' It sounded like Hana was exaggerating, but he wasn't sure. 'We need a vehicle.'

'We could ride the MEKA again.'

'It's not built for that sort of thing. I think I busted one of the engine coolers. It will only do short bursts from now on. And besides, it needs the rest of the day to charge or it will never have enough power to leave the ground.'

Riding the suit through the dawn sky, fleeing Japan, had been a stunning journey. The waves rolling beneath their feet, cool breeze slicing like a well-honed blade. Genji could almost imagine the fish swimming beneath, large creatures of the deep blue staring up and wondering why there was such a large, fat bird crossing the world above.

They must have looked quite a sight with Genji hanging on for dear life. But again, with his mechanic arms, he had felt very little discomfort. If he'd been relying on bone and muscle and sinew he would have fallen within the first hour. Perhaps there was something to be gained from the life of a cyborg.

 _There is much to be gained._

Ah, the voice was back.

 _I am. I apologise for this intrusion. There will come a time when I no longer need to speak to you this way, but for now you must allow me._

There was nothing Genji could do to stop the voice, so he shrugged amicably and kept walking. If Hana thought his silence was at all strange, she did not mention it. They were both being baked by the sun. It was only a matter of time before one of them went a little crazy.

I'm on my way, Genji thought loudly.

 _I am aware. This is pleasing news to me. Do you have the sword?_

I do.

 _Good. Together we will unlock the secrets of that blade, and of your destiny. Keep on the path. I will not trouble again until you are considerably closer._

Genji tried to tell the voice to stay, to give directions, to begin their discussions of the sword and destiny, to ask some questions that very much needed answering. But the voice was gone, disappeared with stubborn finality. The voice, Genji remembered, belonged to an Omnic named Zenyatta. There was no reason for him to trust Zenyatta beyond what he had heard… but there was no reason for him to trust anyone back in Japan, either.

'Are you worried you might run out of battery?' Hana asked suddenly.

'What?'

'Or that your joints could get rusted over. I should have brought oil. I've seen the Wizard of Oz. But I didn't even think of it.'

Genji sighed. 'I'm not that kind of robot. Japan tech is much…'

'What about if you run out of engine fluid? Or get sand stuck in your hinges? If your pistons get stuck?'

'Hana.'

'Can you see infra-red? Can you sense the third dimension?'

'We live in the third dimension.'

'If you break down I may not be able to carry you.' Hana admonished him.

Genji groaned. 'Hana, please don't make fun of me. I didn't ask to be made into a robot.'

'Your father did. He and your brother planned it.' The cheeky smile slipped from Hana's features. 'You know… they weren't very good to you, at the end.'

Genji paused. 'Tell me.'

So as they walked Hana did her best to fill Genji in on everything she had learned – all about Hanzo and the fight, reclaiming the sword, the death of General Shimada – as well as her experiences in jail with McCree, and being broken free by Mercy, Tracer, and the others.

'I know those people. All of them!' Genji was suddenly animated, excited. He looked back in the direction of Japan. 'What happened to them? Where were they when you found me?'

'You… what?'

'Tracer and I…' Genji struggled for the right words. To him, Hana was just a little girl. His sister, in a way. He didn't want to say something inappropriate. 'Well, we were very close.'

'Oh, you were banging.' Hana nodded solemnly. 'I definitely should have told you they were there.'

Genji looked down in shame once more. He didn't want to talk about Tracer now, or the others. They were far behind, either in Japan captured, or, hopefully, somewhere on a new adventure. Safe, at least, was something he could hope for. He hadn't expected them to come for him. He'd hoped they wouldn't.

'Well…' Hana trailed off, as if not sure how to continue now. 'Anyway, last time I saw them they were ok. We had to fight some people to escape, but it went ok. Not too many dead. I… I felt really weird fighting against Japanese soldiers. I mean, I've spent so many years training with them, and…'

'I know.' Genji nodded. 'I feel the same. It is not easy to be an outsider.'

'You're kind of Luke Skywalker, you know?' Hana grinned. 'Wandering off on your own, while the rest of your friends fight for freedom on the Millenium Falcon.'

'What?'

'Where are we going, anyway? To get some teaching from a wise old gnome, I bet.'

Genji frowned. He knew she was referencing pop culture, but it was not his strong point. His father had not encouraged it when Genji was small, and the Shimada family was known for crime. That had not changed when his father became a politician, nor when the world ended.

'We're going to meet the guide who… well, he communicates with me. Let's leave it at that.'

'Does he communicate using the force?'

'The _what_?'

Genji wanted to tell her to shut up, but in a friendly way. It was just banter. The sort of family banter that Genji enjoyed with Hana, but had never had with a member of his own family. She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it, frowned in confusion, and turned to look in the opposite direction.

'What… the… you…'

She slumped down onto the roof of the suit, seemingly unconscious. Genji looked around, but could not see what had hit her, or why she was suddenly out cold. They were in the middle of a desert. Of a wasteland! Who could possibly be out here… and why?

The answer popped her head up out from behind a pile of rubble and approached him, hands in the air. Genji frowned over at the figure. Short, probably feminine, with a long dark cloak, heavy boots, and not an inch of skin exposed. There were splashes of yellow on her wrist bracers and gas mask, which, now that he thought about it, he wished he had one of his own. The desolation of former China was probably not completely free of radiation.

He realised he did not have a gun, and unsheathed the Shimada Blade.

'Who are you!' He called.

The figure took off her mask – definitely a woman, and much older than he expected. She even had grey hair. But definitely not Chinese. She must have come here after the Fallout, although Genji could not imagine why.

'My name is Ana, formerly of the organisation known as Overwatch. Welcome to the Wasteland. Now lower that silly old sword. There isn't a man alive who can deflect a _bullet,_ not even you.'

Genji knew that was true, so he lowered the weapon. The old woman, Ana, smiled.

'Now, is there any chance you've seen my daughter? She's about this tall, very beautiful, and has not looked happy in about fifteen years.'

Genji blinked. He didn't know what to say.


	32. Chapter 32

They were about halfway to England when Road Hog confronted Junkrat.

The _Mantis_ had a number of spare rooms, as it was designed to hold a company of twenty to thirty clones. There were kitchens, locker rooms, a bathroom of sorts, and a loading bay for cargo at the back. Each one had a sturdy door, and it was in one of the locker rooms that Road Hog cornered his friend and slammed the door behind.

'What's going on?' He growled.

Junkrat's eyes were vague and smoky. 'I… I don't know.'

Road Hog had been afraid of that answer. He didn't consider a particularly smart man, and knew others didn't either. But he was tough and brave and, above all else, loyal. He could tell when something was up with his friends. Something was up with Junkrat now.

'You've been acting weird.' He said. 'Since Japan. I should have stayed with you.'

'Yeah… maybe.' Junkrat scratched the back of his head. It looked like he wanted to say something but didn't have the words. He looked worn thin. There were bags under his eyes, Road Hog now noticed. And his skin had a grey, deathly pallor to it.

'You're not leaving this room until you tell me.'

Junkrat smiled, and there was just the tiniest spark of his old humour. 'Think I couldn't get past you, pig face?' Then he sobered. 'The truth is, I think I've lost my memories. Or at least a few of them, from the past day or so. Nothing's stuck. I don't remember where we were, or what we did. There are brief flashes, images, sounds, feelings… but no coherent picture. It's like I jumped in the billabong and it turned out to be quicksand.'

'That's not good.' Road Hog grumbled.

Life had been simpler before they met this group. It wasn't that Road Hog didn't like them – he actually liked almost all of the group. He, more than any of the others, enjoyed their company. Widowmaker had come around to him on their mission together, Soldier 76 shared old war stories readily…

But Reaper and Mercy had some ulterior motive, an agenda. It was always in the background of Road Hog's mind, and he couldn't help but think that maybe he and Junkrat should have stayed in the canyons and tried their luck against the undead and the robots.

'I'm a little scared, cobber.' Junkrat admitted.

'Being scared is a good thing.' Hog answered, voice as slow and rumbling as delayed thunder. 'Showing it isn't.'

Road Hog had known that for years. He'd been a common thug before the Fallout, muscle for hire, breaking into banks and terrorising men, women, and children of all the countries of the world. It was an exotic, brutal job. He'd worked with Junkrat more than once. Junkrat knew explosives, which was useful, and machines, which was more so. Junkrat was a good driver, and was used to working with cars. After the Fallout Road Hog had travelled to the place he'd last seen Junkrat and, through luck alone, had found his old friend near the Junker village in the canyon.

He'd arrived just in time. That was just after Junkrat had lost his leg to McCree's gang.

'What're we going to do about it then?' Junkrat asked. 'I can't just go asking the others what I did. That's a huge sign of weakness.'

'You saved Mercy's life.' The voice was gritty as sandpaper and sounded dark as midnight. It echoed in their minds and sent a shiver down Road Hog's back. They turned as one and found Reaper hiding in the shadows at the far end of the locker room. He was like the shadow of death, absorbed by the dark places and hidden from the light.

'Then,' Reaper continued, no trace of emotion in his voice, 'you were killed by McCree. Using this gun. He stole it from me. That will not happen again.'

Junkrat looked up at Road Hog, but Hog's attention was already on the door. It would only take a few seconds to go and snap McCree's neck. There was nothing the would-be-Sherriff could do to stop him. Like many of the others, McCree was catching up on sleep. He'd never see it coming, and the dreams would mask the heavy footsteps.

'Wait.' Reaper dived into shadow and reappeared between them and the door. 'That's not the whole story.'

Junkrat, rather than vindictive, looked confused. 'He… killed me?'

'Yes. Mercy brought you back to life but she took too long. There's a part of you missing. Your soul…'

'Souls don't exist.' Road Hog snarled. He was not afraid of Reaper; or at least he refused to show it.

'They do. And Junkrat doesn't have his. That's why he looks like death warmed up. But I can help with that.'

'How?' Junkrat asked, eyes narrowed.

'I _am_ Death warmed up.' Reaper opened his jacket slightly, and all the mists of Hell seemed to shimmer beneath it the sleeves. 'And I have your soul right here.'

'What's to stop us taking it from you?' Road Hog asked.

'Have you ever touched one before? You think you can hold it? Manipulate it? Play catch with it?' Reaper's voice was full of such disgust Road Hog could almost feel it in his bones.

'No? I didn't think so. Only I can give it to you. But I'm not going to do that. Not yet. Because once I do you'll have no reason to help me.'

'Help you with what?' Junkrat asked.

'Stopping Mercy.'

So as to avoid suspicion, Reaper, Junkrat, and Road Hog moved their conversation to the loading bay. There, while rummaging, Junkrat found enough scraps and spare parts to start rebuilding his weapons collection. A few new traps, detonating explosives, grenades, and even the tyre of a damaged car he could rig up like a missile. He fiddled while Road Hog and Reaper talked. It seemed like a distraction to Road Hog, but he could tell why his old partner in crime might need a distraction. It was heavy talk to find out you had been killed, and your soul was being held ransom.

'Why do you want to stop Mercy?'

Reaper looked between the two. 'You may not realise this but we came here to Earth with a single purpose; to find out what was happening that stopped the dead from dying. Why they kept rising. Why they were restless and violent.'

'I'm fairly sure you told us that.' Junkrat said.

'Well, I lied. I know exactly why.'

'Why?'

'It's my army.' Though Reaper wore a mask on his face there was a hint of ruthless pleasure in his voice as he spoke the words. 'With them I will take over the world, and then some. But first…'

'Wait, how?' Junkrat waved a hand. 'How did you do all that?'

'I'm an Angel of Death. A spirit of the afterlife.'

'Yes, but…'

The echoing sound of Reaper's sigh spoke of incredible disappointment. 'The Fallout. I don't know what caused the Omnic virus, and I don't know what caused the Fallout, but it was the perfect opportunity for me. Over six billion simultaneous deaths. I simply shut the doors and walked out. The dead had nowhere to go but back up, and I led the way.'

'If any of that is true, you could have stopped death at any time.' Road Hog mumbled.

'You're right. But it would have been noticed and stopped too soon by Mercy and her kind. This way it looks like an accident. It looks like I have no idea what's going on either. It looks like death is crowded and I want to fix it, but that's not true. The truth is I could stop it at any time, but I won't.'

There was a pause. Junkrat had finished his tyre and needed help strapping it to his back for easy access. Road Hog assisted as Reaper watched impassively. They all glanced back at the door, making sure it was sealed shut, then resumed their conversation.

'I'm not sure I like the idea of you controlling death.' Junkrat said. 'I think I'd rather die now then help you and get my soul back.'

'Don't be an idiot.' They almost heard Reaper roll his eyes. 'Once I use the dead to stop the Omnics I'll leave what is left of civilisation to you. To the humans. I didn't cause the Fallout, I didn't want so many to die.'

'But so many are dead.'

'Not my problem. Humans did that to themselves. And once I've stopped the Omnics you can deal with it yourselves.'

Road Hog and Junkrat exchanged a glance. It seemed a fairly reasonable request, all things considered. But there was still at least one thing bugging Road Hog.

'Why not just tell Mercy? She'd probably be on board with it.'

'You don't know her like I do. She's duty bound to stop those dead and give them peace in any way she can. That means stopping me and releasing the souls as soon as possible. She doesn't care about you when you're alive, just the dead. She'll leave the last remnants of civilisation to the mercy of the Omnics before she lets me control my dead army for a single minute.'

'Then why stay with her?'

'Mercy's powerful. More than she admits. I might have been able to take her when it was just the two of us, but now that she's got so many allies I need a team to take her down. Someone strong enough to get straight into a fight, someone who can deal some damage…' Reaper looked between the two thieves.

'The three of us can save the world?' Road Hog asked. It sounded unlikely. He'd never thought of himself as a hero. But he wanted to a better man, didn't he? He'd never told anyone about his past, before the Fallout. Only Junkrat knew what he'd done. This was his chance to build a new future, a new legacy, a new person. One that was admired, loved, respected. Not hated.

Sometimes he felt like Frankenstein's Monster. But this… this opportunity…

He nodded to Reaper. 'I'll help.'

Junkrat shrugged. 'Me too, I guess. Can I have my soul back now?'

'Not yet. Soon. And in the meantime don't kill McCree. I don't want any more of this rivalry. We have to appear to have moved on, and stay as close to Mercy and the others as we can. The longer this absurd mission goes on, the less she will trust me.'

Junkrat didn't look pleased by the answer. 'The longer it goes on the more allies she'll get, too. Mercy's a smiling face, mate. You're not.'

'I'm hoping I can get Widowmaker, and perhaps this new criminal Sombra onto my side, after we find her.' Reaper explained. 'They seem like they would share my philosophy. Not everyone likes a smiling face.'

They wrapped it up then. There was more that all of them wanted to say, but Reaper and Road Hog were not traditionally very open people, and it seemed like they had spent far too long in such close quarters for it to be comfortable. Besides, there were other people on the ship, and they were getting closer to England every minute. The last thing they wanted was for someone to wonder why they were spending so much time together.

So they left the loading bay, Reaper heading back to the cockpit to watch the landing procedure, and Road Hog going for a power nap, while Junkrat sat awake and pondered life as an undead.

None of them realised that the intercom system had been active the entire time, and that Soldier 76, piloting the ship with his headset on, had heard the entire conversation.


	33. Chapter 33

Ana led Genji back to her hideaway. To get there they had to cover several kilometres of harsh, sandy overland, territory torn apart by the Fallout. The air smelt like death, there was ash on the wind even now. Ana led the way without complaint, Genji followed. , once she had awoken, was not particularly happy about trusting Ana, but was happy to trail along behind. She was not afraid of anything once she was safely installed within the MEKA suit.

'You don't look Chinese.' Genji said. The howling winds of the plains had made talking difficult, but now that they were inside it seemed like a good way to begin the conversation.

'I'm not,' Ana replied. 'Egyptian.'

'You're far from home.'

'I no longer have a home.'

'Neither do I.' Genji almost smiled, then realised the robotic mask covered his face. Or what was left of his face. He started to form his next question when he heard making a noise and turned around.

The MEKA suit was halfway through the doorway. Hana was struggling with the controls, trying to get it the rest of the way through, the tiny arms and legs of the war machine struggling and shuffling in the confined space.

'Don't look at me!' she screeched.

Genji turned back to Ana. 'So what are you doing out here? You told us you were a former member of Overwatch.'

'That organisation has not existed for a very long time.' The old woman took a seat. She looked weary. 'But yes, once upon a time, I did work with them. I have not had an experience like that in a very long time…'

'You miss it?'

'I miss fighting for a cause. Now I fight to survive. They are different.'

'I understand.'

Ana looked at him closely with one bright eye. The other was hidden beneath a lock of grey hair. She was, he reflected for the second time, quite old.

'I don't think you do.' She said.

Hana, still stuck in the suit, which was in turn still stuck in the doorway, finally called out for help. Genji went to assist.

Once all three of them were inside, Hana now dressed only in her tight insulated under-clothes, Genji looked around with more interest.

'What is this place?'

'A former arcade centre. The machines still work, if you have an interest.' Ana gestured upwards. 'But as for the city, I could not tell you. The Fallout changed China. The population has dwindled and moved to less arid areas. The terrain has changed. Cities fell in the blasts, and deserts rose in their place. It is a country of rubble and dust now.'

Hana's eyes bulged. 'These are arcade games? Oh. My. God. I haven't seen arcade games in… forever!'

In an instant she had leapt to her feet and rushed to the nearest machine. True to Ana's word it blinked to life with a warm glow. Hana tapped at the simple controls, wiggled the joystick, and then let out a moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

'I haven't played an actual _game_ in years!' She exclaimed.

Genji allowed himself to smile. He was glad to see her so happy. He did not think this was a place they could stay for long, but at least they had found a momentary respite from the dangers.

He waited for the voice in his head to respond, but it did not. Last time he had heard it in his mind it had promised not to bother him until he was closer. That might still be some time. They had not made much progress, in fact Genji suspected that finding Ana's hideout had taken them in the wrong direction.

'She might need to cover up some more, if you plan to go back out there.' Ana was peeling the lids from some canned food, but her eyes were on Hana. Genji did not ask where she had found the can, or whether the contents still acceptable to eat. He took it gratefully and began to chow down.

'She is protected when she's in the MEKA.' Genji explained. 'No biting winds or harmful sun rays will hurt her. And she's tougher than she looks.'

'Very well. And you?'

'I am also tougher than I look.'

Genji pulled back some of the scraps of cloth that clung to his body. He did not recognise his own sleek metallic form. Ana raised the eyebrow of her only visible eye.

'Ah. You are an omnic.'

'No, I'm not. I'm a human trapped in the body of a machine.'

'A cyborg then.'

Genji wanted to argue, but stopped himself. Sooner or later he would have to accept the fact that he was a cyborg. It was the definition of monster he had been taught as a child – the worst abomination any man could be. And yet, that's what he was. Somewhere between human and Omnic, not quite either.

'I am. Technically. I won't harm you, and I don't expect you to understand.'

Ana flicked back the lock of hair from over her right eye, revealing a stained grey patch. She smiled, a kindly, wrinkled, grandmotherly smile. He wondered if she was truly this old, or if the harsh climate of post-apocalypse China had weathered her face.

'I do understand.' She responded. 'It is our humanity that we must cling to, not the health of our body. God knows I'm getting old. But let me add that some of the Omnics have a surprising amount of humanity… for machines. You don't remember the old times, before the Fallout, before the Omnic Uprising. Back when we fought for peace, cooperative living.'

'What happened?'

'Some people were too afraid of the unknown. Overwatch was collapsed. The Omnics were ostracized. And we… went into hiding.'

Genji considered what he should tell the old woman, then gave in. She did not appear to be a threat to him. Behind them Hana was focused on the arcade games, occasionally pumping the air with victory or slamming the controls in defeat.

'Actually, I know that some Omnics are good, and some are bad. The virus was born when they reached independent thought.'

Ana smiled. 'Who told you that?'

'I am in tune with the Omnics. One of them speaks to me, in my mind.'

'What does he say?'

'That we must meet.'

Ana nodded. 'I assume you were on your way to meet him when I distracted you?'

'I think it will take several days, perhaps weeks. He is somewhere in the West. But yes, that's where we are headed.'

Ana tossed a can of food over to Hana. Despite how hungry the girl must have been her eyes did not stray from the screen for even a second. Genji wondered what he had done to deserve this woman's help. Probably nothing. If anything, he deserved to be left to die. Maybe Ana was just that kind of person, always looking for ways to help.

Maybe she'd just been in the desert too long, and was getting bored.

'I am going to help you find this virtuous Omnic. I will help you cross the desert.'

'I can't ask you to do that.'

'You have not asked me. I have offered. And I will not allow you to decline. Let me tell you something, boy. I have been fighting since before you could walk and talk. You might think you're tough, and fast, and strong, and perhaps you are, but I'm the one who took you both by surprise and I'm the one who knows this land. So I'm leading you, and that's the end of the debate.'

'You don't even know where we're going.'

Ana grinned again. 'We're going to a monastery in Nepal. The voice in your head belongs to Zenyatta, once one of the disciples of a wise Omnic named Tekhartha Mondatta. He is one of the last Shambali, and I have met him several times.'

'When?'

'When Overwatch was tasked with protecting Tekhartha.'

'What happened?'

Ana scowled. 'You ask too many questions. Obviously we failed. Mondatta is dead and Zenyatta lives in exile, like me. But he is not dead, and neither do I, despite what everyone seems to think.'

Genji nodded his head. 'Do you think he will train me?'

Ana stood. 'A cyborg, a human, and an Omnic. You are the bridge between peoples. You are perhaps unique in your ability to understand both flesh and machine. Under Zenyatta's guidance you will do more than train, you will save the world. If you want to. Now come, we should not waste any more time. Collect your weapons.'

Genji called out to Hana, and explained that they were moving on. It was late in the evening now, but Ana explained that she knew a better place to make camp; a more defensible position that was only an hour away. And besides, with the suit's scanners, it was unlikely that any Omnics or living dead would sneak up on them, even in the dusk.

Hana drew her automatic blaster and started firing on the arcade machines. First she destroyed the luminescent screens, then the control panels, then the main processing units. It was surprisingly vicious and completely unnecessary.

'What are you doing?' Genji asked.

'I don't want anyone beating my high scores.' Hana replied. 'And I can't see us coming back here.'

It was not the answer Genji had been expecting, but he accepted it, drew his weapon, and helped destroy the remaining machines as Ana sat back and rolled her eyes.

'If you're done, we really should be going.' The old woman reminded them.

As they left the ruins of the arcade centre and stepped out into the dim light of post-apocalyptic China, Genji could have sworn he heard the former member of Overwatch whistle and mention something about his nice butt being nice and firm.

He decided to ignore her. It was unprofessional for people to talk about the rear end of a cyborg ninja.

Even if it was nice and firm.


	34. Chapter 34

Soldier 76 wondered what he should think of the information he had just heard. Reaper, that dark figure with the twin shotguns, had been talking to Junkrat and Road-Hog, two equally untrustworthy people. Not just people, but strangers. Strangers he did not like, nor want to spend any more time with than necessary.

But it was not his choice. Widowmaker was, technically, his superior. She may have had a shadowy past, but she had been part of the team that took down Talon, and the official message from the Government was that this had been a good move. Overwatch, as far as he understood, had been a bad organisation.

Had they really? It was hard to tell. So much of history was now wrapped up in propaganda and rhetoric that suited a new message. History had been rewritten. Still, it was beside the point. The people who gave him orders – or had given him orders, before the standing Government was wiped out – had made it quite clear that Special Agent Lacroix was to be his boss.

Then Special Agent Lacroix had died. That had been a confusing time. Soldier 76 had only been voted as the new leader because he was the oldest and, in his own personal opinion, that was not a good reason. He'd fought many battles, and been lucky to survive, but that's all it was. Luck. He'd even fought alongside Overwatch, decades ago, when the clone program was so young there were only one hundred of them. This was before, of course, Overwatch was called "the enemy".

They hadn't seemed like the enemy.

He remembered the good old days, fighting alongside the heroes – Reinhardt, a boisterous German tall as a small building; Winston, a small man with a mind for engineering and biology, a warm heart; Ana, beautiful and deadly, a sniper with one watchful eye on her allies and another on her enemies. In his mind's eye, she was there, smiling at him…

He shook the memories away. Those days were long gone. Overwatch had been evil, his superiors had told him that many times. Widowmaker was in charge now. He looked down at the controls of the _Mantis._ He hadn't even been concentrating. They would be coming up to England soon. He should talk to Widowmaker before they landed. He had a duty to tell her what he knew.

He checked the monitors – they were everywhere, lining the walls of the cockpit, showing a dozen different things. Some showed the status of the ship, others the rooms. He knew where everyone was. Hanzo, the Japanese soldier, was the only one that had not moved. He was still tied up at the back of the _Mantis,_ a prisoner of war. What would they do with him? 76 was not sure. It was not his place to make decisions. He spotted Widowmaker in one of the screens and stood.

As he was leaving the cockpit McCree was standing by the door, as if waiting. The cowboy was chewing on something, and resting a prosthetic hand on the wall.

'Howdy. So you're the clone.'

'And you're the Lone Ranger?'

McCree smiled. 'We must be the only two Americans here, unless I'm mistaken. Road Hog and Junkrat are both Australian – God knows how they got to the US of A. Tracer's English.'

'Reaper and Mercy?'

'They're angels, if you ask 'em.'

Soldier 76 frowned at this. He did not think he believed in angels although, he had to admit, he had seen some strange things since joining this misfit crowd.

'And Widowmaker is French,' Soldier 76 completed the tally.

'Don't forget the Japanese soldier.'

'How could I?' Soldier glanced over to where the warrior was tied up. Even subdued as he was it was clear that Hanzo was an impressive fighter. The tattoos on his arms bulged with muscle, his wrists tied behind his back.

'So,' McCree continued, 'I feel as though we should stick together. You and I, brothers in Red Blue and White, ain't that so?'

Soldier 76 scowled. 'Patriots, are we?'

'Sure we are. I bet you're a big fan of those old fashioned cowboy movies, aren't you?'

'I thought I was. Until I met you.'

McCree's grin grew wider. 'Suit yourself, old man. Suit yourself.'

Soldier 76 escaped the confrontation and found Tracer clutching her knees in the main cargo bay of the _Mantis._ She did not look happy, but he wasn't sure why. There was still plenty of time to talk to Widowmaker before they landed so he took a moment to sit next to the young girl. He might not particularly like McCree, but Tracer was a different story. She seemed genuine, and full of hope. He felt a fatherly need to protect that. And besides, she was part of the crew. Crew morale was important. His news could wait a little longer.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

Tracer looked up, bright eyes sparkling beneath the locks of her short brown hair.

'Everything.'

'Can you narrow it down for me?' It was only now, speaking to the girl, that he truly felt as old as he was. The gravel in his voice made him sound like… well, like a grandparent. A relic of a more heroic time.

'Well, two things specifically.' Tracer took a deep sigh, and wiped a tear from her face. 'We're going back to England. I swore I'd never go back there. That place is completely overrun by mercenaries and criminals, not to mention Omnics and the risen dead. I don't like the sound of Widowmaker's plan to enter King's Row. I saw that place, once, before I left London. It's a shit hole. An entire suburb barricaded into a prison cell. If this person – Sombra – is there, we'll have to fight her way to her. I'm not sure it's worth it.'

Soldier 76 nodded. Thought about putting a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder, then decided against it.

'But,' Tracer continued, 'I'm not sure we have a choice either. Because my second problem is that I keep phasing in and out of time. If we can't find someone to fix that, like Widowmaker's supposed friend Winston can, who knows what might happen? I might phase out and never return…'

The poor thing looked terrified. Soldier 76 didn't know what to say. He made something up.

'Everything will be fine.'

She glared at him. 'What makes you say that?'

'I have hope.'

'You don't look like a man full of hope.'

In truth, he wasn't. He was a man full of doubt. Doubt that he'd made the right choices when he was young; doubt that he was in the right place; doubt that his existence meant anything at all, other than yet another Government project that had not gone quite right; doubt that Widowmaker was someone worth following with such allegiance. And yet, he was also a man full of hope. Because if someone like Tracer could exist – someone so pure, and determined – then maybe, just maybe, this apocalyptic wasteland of a world could pull itself back up from the brink. Maybe, just maybe, they could make a world worth fighting for.

He sighed. 'Looks can be deceiving. Now come on, get ready. We'll be at King's Row soon. We'll need every hand we can get.'

He stood, left the girl where she was. He had nothing left to say – at least nothing encouraging. She would need to beat this on her own. Beat what? Despair? Sadness? Fear? Whatever it was, it was her own private battle. He had his own to fight.

He found Widowmaker exactly where he'd seen her on the cockpit screen – tending to her rifle in one of the cabins. He sat down opposite and neither said anything for a few minutes as the Special Agent concentrated.

She unnerved him. He knew almost nothing about her, other than that she had been accepted into the military in a commanding position shortly before the military was overrun. She was deadly, that had been proven many times. But not only that, her blue skin – an uncomfortable remnant from her time in death – looked so unnatural Soldier 76 didn't know whether to avoid eye contact entirely or stare. He opted for staring.

'See something you like?'

Soldier 76 blinked, off guard. 'Sorry?'

'You've got an eye on me, _oui_?'

Soldier 76 nodded. 'You're the commanding officer.'

'Ah, so you were just waiting for orders?' She nodded knowingly. 'Maybe I'll give you some. Who knows?'

He wondered if she was flirting. He was too old for flirting. He'd been quite good at it, but that was decades ago – a lifetime ago. Clones were not made to live as long as he had. He was the last of the first one hundred. He might now be the last of all of them. But that was all beside the point. His training had never covered flirting. That was something he'd learnt all on his own. Well, with just a little help from a certain member of Overwatch with a keen eye.

'I don't follow.' Soldier 76 replied diplomatically.

Widowmaker smiled. It had not been flirting, he decided. Widowmaker had a fine body, that was true, lithe and strong. She was beautiful and alluring, in an intelligent and dangerous way. But she was no more interested in him that he was in her. It had been a trap, a test. She wanted to know what power she held over him. He wondered if he had passed, or failed. Would she trust him more, knowing that he followed her orders only out of duty, or less? The personal connection between them was minimal. They might have come from the same team, but they did not feel like allies now, trapped as they were by so many strangers on such a dangerous journey.

'Never mind, 76. I was just thinking aloud.' She put her rifle down, cleaned and ready for action, and stood. 'I assume you have an update for me? There must be a reason for you to leave the cockpit.'

'Yes ma'am.'

'Well, before you get to all that, let me just tell you one thing. This is an order, you understand, _oui?_ Not something to hear and forget.'

He nodded again. She continued.

'These people we are travelling with? They are not to be trusted. None of them. They know things about the end of the world that we do not. Especially the Shimada boy, our prisoner. It's very important we keep him separate from the rest. But Mercy, and Reaper… they're just as bad. Claiming to be angels. I don't know what their deal is, or how they brought me back to life, but I don't trust them.'

Soldier 76 said nothing. He did not trust these strangers either. Nor did he like Mercy and Reaper's apparent story. But when he heard his own fears spoken aloud by Widowmaker, they sounded paranoid, and angry. He did not like to find that they agreed.

'Even the girl, Hana. She could be a spy. She could free Hanzo at any minute. And the two Australians? Criminals, clearly. They're as likely to steal our tech as they are to kill us in our sleep.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'Just wait for my orders. There will come a time, when we reach King's Row, that we will turn on them. Sombra is an old friend. If she's still there, which I'm sure she is, she'll be able to help us draw them into a trap. And then we can interrogate the whole lot of them, one by one.'

Soldier 76 thought about the group they were travelling with, and all the secrets they carried. He was not sure which side he was on anymore. But Widowmaker was his superior, wasn't she?

'Do you understand, 76? It will seem like we are betraying these men and women, but it's more than that. We need to find out what they know, for the good of the future of humanity. And I need your help to do it.'

Soldier 76 gulped, nodded weakly, and even allowed something like a salute. That seemed to be enough for Widowmaker. She smiled a hungry smile, blue lips turned upwards. It was not happy. He had never felt more like a fly trapped in a spider's web than he did at that moment.

'Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?' She asked.

He thought about all he had overheard Reaper, Junkrat, and Road Hog saying, about souls and battles and an army of the undead.

'Nothing.' He said, because he did not trust Widowmaker. 'Except… we are almost at London. You should prepare for landing.'

She laughed. 'Ok, 76, I'll prepare. Go wake the others. I can't wait to meet Sombra again. This is going to be _magnifique.'_


	35. Chapter 35

Sombra heard the shouting before she heard the ship. And of course people were shouting. How long had it been since someone had come in from the _outside?_

'Hey, _ese,_ what is it?' She called, leaving the half-trashed restaurant that doubled as her office.

One of the thugs turned around, a heavy named Omar. He was big, close to six foot but very broad, and carried a club in his left hand with a shotgun over his right shoulder. The general rule was no firearms this close to Sombra – but she trusted him. He'd proven his worth many times in a city where you couldn't really trust anyone.

'Something's flying in. Some real tech.' He looked awestruck. He was. With the dead walking and the robots uprising it seemed like all of civilisation was lost, save their little coven of criminals.

Well, not so little anymore. There were several thousand people living in King's Row now, a warren of streets blocked off from the outside world by barricades of trashed cars and caved in walls. It was the safest place in England – perhaps even the whole of London, or the UK. Not everyone here was a criminal. Some had once been normal civilians, trapped in King's Row with the worst of the worst. But they were all criminals now. The weak didn't survive here.

'So, others did survive.' Sombra couldn't help but be impressed. She'd had a few close calls herself. Anyone who survived in these times deserved respect.

Omar pointed, and Sombra followed him down the cobbled stone street, stained with oil and blood and rainwater.

'Who is it?' he asked.

Sombra frowned. She'd seen that ship before, back in her days working with Talon. There were plenty like it, of course, but this particular one was recognisable from the spider-like design printed on the side.

'That's the _Mantis._ ' She said. 'I used to be friends with the woman who owned it. But that was a lifetime ago. An age ago. The world was not then like it is now.'

Omar nodded sagely. Sombra left him to his reverie and looked around, trying to stimulate her thoughts, thinking of what her next plan of action should be. Because something would have to be done. They couldn't just _let outsiders in_. They might have news of the world. Perhaps they were leading a resistance. But that was beside the point. She had to set a precedent. She couldn't not be welcoming, or trusting. Even if it was Widowmaker, she'd have to be tough.

There were lots of people around. They'd all heard the ship, or been alerted to it by friends. Lots of men, some strong, some weak, some tough, all dirty and rough looking. The women looked little better. Some were protected by the men in their families, or the men they had chosen. Others roamed the streets to find a way. And some protected themselves, though these were more rare. She did not spot any children. The population of King's Row had precious few under sixteens – perhaps only a few dozen from a population of thousands. The future of humanity did not look promising.

'What do we do, _jefe?'_ Omar asked.

Sombra hadn't even begun to think of a plan. She needed eyes, ears, information. Was it really Widowmaker come to visit? It seemed unlikely. Widowmaker had been trying to leave Talon last time Sombra saw her. She'd known that the heads of Talon were looking to employ their brainwashing programs on her. Either Widowmaker had given in, and now worked for the organisation she hated, or she had been killed. It was unlikely she had escaped.

No one escaped Talon.

'I need access to a computer.' Sombra said, turning back towards the derelict restaurant and flexing her fingers. 'I need to know what's happening.'

The restaurant had stopped serving food years ago, but it had taken Sombra most of that time to clear out the mess. She was lazy. She only took out chairs or dining tables after months of being inconveniently in the way, so that over the course of several years it had very, very slowly transformed from an eatery to a stockpile of junk.

Although it wasn't really junk. It was old, yes, and often faulty, but it was valuable to her. Each scrap of technology she had collected were tested, painstakingly cleared of any Omnic virus remnants, and then put to good use. She had, in this way, created her own private network. No one else – or at least very few people – in King's Row understood enough about technology to help. And there was definitely no one else in King's Row who knew enough to stop her. She was queen of the shanty village because she kept the lights on and the computers buzzing.

She was also queen of the city because she had the cameras.

It had taken a long time and a lot of help to get the cameras installed. Even longer to get the microphones on. But, after a great deal of bribery and threats and overnight sneaking around she had managed it. There were cameras and microphones facing almost every exposed inch of King's Row. There was nothing she couldn't see.

She settled into her seat and pressed her glove to the hand-pad.

The hand-pad, like the glove, was one of few pieces of technology that could be considered advanced. The others included her thermoptic camouflage suit and her translocator – remnants of Talon's superior tech. You couldn't find them anywhere these days. The knowledge to make them was probably lost. But she had them.

The hand-pad was connected to every living network, every piece of tech, every frequency, through a series of emitters as tiny as pin pricks that ran from the tips of her fingers to her wrist. There were hundreds of them. A few hand gestures, a few movements, that was all it took. There was almost nothing she couldn't hack.

The primary computer awoke at her touch, and a dozen connected screens all blinked to life, immediately showing her a wide view of King's Row, the city within a city.

Omar, as always, was impressed. It was this factor – the ease at which he could be impressed – that had saved his life. Sombra would have killed him several times, if she'd needed to. The opportunity had been there. But he was so dumbly besotted with her skill, and probably with her, that she'd never felt threatened by him at all.

'This is so amazing.' He said.

Sombra smiled. 'Thank you.'

A few quick taps and she found the right quadrant. Not all of the cameras she'd installed were on flexible stands – she had never considered the need to look around – but there were a handful, and it was enough to look up into the air at the belly of the _Mantis._ She switched from camera to camera as necessary, watching it slow as it passed over the length of King's Row, probably scouting for an easy landing. As the flying machine descended through the air it entered the line of sight of many more cameras, making the task of watching it less difficult.

'They're going to the south side.' Omar said.

Sombra nodded. 'Yes. I think they're…'

A rattling, shouting noise echoed up from the nearby stairs. Though Sombra wanted to be annoyed, she found she could not. That noise still brought a smile to her lips. The joy of visiting the prisoner in the cellar had not yet worn off.

'Omar, go check on our guest, would you?'

Omar nodded dutifully and left for the basement. Sombra looked out the window. A number of thugs, armed and dangerous, sauntered past her restaurant. All of them nodded respectfully, some even raised hands in a show of good faith. They expected her to deal with this new occurrence, this ship, this anomaly. And she would.

She would protect the merciless, pitiless, criminal scum that called this place their home.

The _Mantis_ was indeed heading south. It lowered until it could lower no further, then crawled to a hovering stop above an enormous church at the geographical base of King's Row – almost as far away from Sombra as it was possible to be. If Widowmaker truly was piloting that ship, she had probably assumed that Sombra was inside the cathedral. It was, after all, a big building, perfect for a base of operations, and easily defendable.

But Sombra was not the woman Widowmaker remembered. This little restaurant, exposed and far from anything, suited her perfectly. The thugs and vagrants of King's Row didn't bother her because she had proven herself. She did not need to hide in the cathedral. She did not need an army of personal guards. There wasn't a single person in King's Row who would not recognise her authority.

The _Mantis_ tipped its front, crashed through the roof of the church, and apparently settled itself there. So, now they had the easily defendable position. It would do them no good. There was a great distance to travel between the cathedral and where Sombra was now.

Perhaps, Sombra thought absently, they weren't even looking for her. Perhaps they were looking for someone else. Perhaps they weren't looking for anyone in particular, they had just heard that there were survivors here at King's Row. Well, if they were looking to plan an evacuation, they would need a much bigger machine.

Sombra thought about hacking it, and grinned. She would have to get closer, but she was sure she could do it. It had been a long time before she had had that kind of technology.

More rattling, more screaming from down below. Sombra glanced over to the stairs. She did not mind that Omar could not stop their guest from making noises. She had not gagged the guest, after all. But Omar would put some fear into them, perhaps hurt them a bit. And Sombra could go and do the rest if necessary.

Omar walked back up the stairs, looking sheepish.

'Sorry, _jefe.'_

'It's alright,' she replied, smiling. 'He's a stubborn bastard. I'll go down in a minute.'

'Do we know anything new?' Omar asked.

Sombra gestured to the screen. 'They've found a home in the cathedral.'

She did not yet have cameras in there, which was annoying, but there were several just outside, all of which were pointed at the door. A crowd of thugs were arming themselves just outside, taking cover behind a derelict double decker bus and, further back, behind a wall. There, shining in gold, was the statue of Tekhartha Mondatta.

Sombra scowled at the sight of it. Omnics. She'd have killed the lot if she could. There had once been thousands of Omnics here in King's Row, and in the greater area of London. One of her jobs – after the Fallout – had been wiping them out, a task which she had more or less succeeded. The Omnics had probably repaired themselves by now, they were annoyingly good at that, but at least they were outside the walls.

'A lot of men already there,' Omar mused, 'should we give them orders?'

Sombra had a tech station set up at the Meridian, from which she could send messages. If she wanted to she could call off the defence, and ask for anyone who came out of the cathedral to be escorted to her safely. Or she could tell them to fight to their last breath. She was inclined to go with the latter. She didn't really care if it was Widowmaker or not, it would be fun to see a real fight, and she had the best seat in the house to watch it from.

'Plans, _jefe?'_ Omar asked again.

Sombra tapped a few keys into the machine, and the message was immediately transmitted. Someone over at the Meridian would read it, and relay it. What happened next would be interesting. Sombra leaned back and cracked her fingers, satisfied with her work.

Omar read the message over her shoulder. 'Do you think they'll do as you ask?' he said.

Sombra laughed. 'Of course. They do everything I tell them to. Now, let's go visit our guest. He's still making noise down there, and he should know by now how much I hate distraction.'

As she descended the stairs, she wondered for the millionth time how she had been lucky enough to capture a popstar as famous as Lucio dos Santos. But then, the answer to that was simple. The real question was why had Lucio dos Santos, a popstar of all things, ever decided to be a hero?

She laughed again when she saw him, tied to a chair with tight, chafing rope, blood-red eyes from lack of sleep, skinny arms from lack of nourishment. Yes, this little singer had got exactly what he deserved.


	36. Chapter 36

Soldier 76 was first out of the _Mantis_ when they landed, but Widowmaker was not far behind. Then followed Reaper and Mercy, and last of all Tracer, Junkrat, McCree, and Road Hog. They left Hanzo Shimada tied up inside. He was a liability. No one trusted him – not yet. Widowmaker, it seemed, was still deciding whether or not to kill him.

Soldier 76 looked around. The cathedral they had chosen to land in was vacant, as he had hoped, despite Widowmaker's prediction that their target "Sombra" would have set up her base here. They had not landed on anything important other than some discarded machinery, a few crates, and a dozen Omnic carcasses. Soldier 76 kicked one to make sure it was down.

'So,' he said, 'welcome to King's Row.'

They had flown over the expanse of the "city", and it was surprisingly impressive. Whatever it had started as, it now covered several suburbs, a considerably large part of London. Large enough to home thousands of people. Tens of thousands, maybe. At each exit was a pile of machinery and debris built up like a wall, to keep out enemies.

And there were plenty of enemies. They had seen these, too, as they flew over King's Row. A million robots and a million undead, vying for positions to get inside. The Omnic virus had driven these machines crazy. Soldier 76 did not know when that had happened – when he'd been commissioned to fight, so many years ago, many Omnics had been good. They had helped members of Overwatch, and the members of Overwatch had helped them in return. Soldier 76 was old enough to remember Mondatta, the prophet of the Omnics, who had called for peace.

Somehow, all of that had been lost. Now the Omnics were mad with a lust for death and, even more strangely, the newly dead were stumbling around, hungry for life.

'Well,' Mercy said disapprovingly, 'clearly the person we need is not here. We should start up the _Mantis_ and keep looking.'

'No.' Widowmaker shook her head. 'I believe Sombra will be close by. And I also believe that we will have more luck on foot. 76's HUD and my infra-red display can…'

'I think this is a democracy.' Mercy interrupted. 'There are several of us here. We have all earned our right to speak.'

'Actually,' Widowmaker narrowed her eyes, 'it isn't. I'm in charge. The ship is mine, and the only other person who knows how to fly it is a clone who has explicit orders to follow my directions. So you'll do as I say.'

Mercy didn't look happy but, as she looked around, she clearly realised her allies were lacking and did not push the point further. Soldier 76 had no idea what Mercy knew, as they hadn't had a good chance to talk. But she seemed smart. Smart enough to know that Reaper was planning to betray her, maybe.

McCree spoke up, his characteristic drawl sounding bored and possibly even annoyed. 'If we were voting I'd say we should leave all together. This place is a death trap I ain't so willin' to stick my foot in.'

76 said nothing, as usual, but noticed plenty of the others nodding ever so slightly in agreement. Even Junkrat, who twitched as McCree spoke, seemed to like the idea of leaving.

But Tracer was shaking. 'I hate this place more than anyone,' she said. 'It was once my home. Or the closest I ever had to home. This is the country I was born in, for God's sake. Seeing it like this… makes me sick. But we don't have a choice. If we don't find Sombra, we don't find Winston. And if we don't find Winston… I die.'

Even as they watched, she flickered. Time was pulling her apart at the edges. She was losing her tangibility. No one understood it exactly, but it was clear that her blessing – the ability to jump through time – was also a curse.

'You're not that important to me.' Road Hog growled, his voice as deep and dark as a raging inferno. A few people gave him shocked, angry stares, but he shrugged through it. 'I look out for me, and Junkrat. That's it.'

Junkrat pat his buddy on the arm, but even the Junker looked shaky. After what had happened to him in Japan, it was no surprise.

'I think we need to do this, big guy. Tracer's helped us a few times. But then, once this is over, we go our own way. Let's make that clear, right now.'

No one argued. Soldier 76 looked at Reaper, who looked straight back at him. Neither of them had spoken. They didn't plan to. They would go with the group. Soldier 76 decided he would take extra care to keep an eye on the dark-clad figure. It would be tough to fight a war when you couldn't trust your own allies not to stab you in the back, but the truth was Soldier 76 expected Reaper to start gunning them down at any moment. He couldn't let that happen.

'Right, that's settled, more or less.' Widowmaker nodded briskly, ready for business. 'We rescue Tracer.'

76 smiled darkly at that. Widowmaker made herself sound like a true hero, fighting for others. The truth was they were here to get Sombra. Whether or not Sombra even could help Tracer was yet to be seen. They were taking Widowmaker's word for it.

He steadied his rifle in the crook of his arm. Now that a decision had been made he fell into a commanding position naturally – he'd been leading raids and defensive holds for years, after all.

'Right. We already known that there are enemies outside, because we saw them gathering from the _Mantis._ We need to push through, and we need to do it quickly or we'll be surrounded. Junkrat, take those stairs to the upper window of the cathedral and rain grenades down from above. Widowmaker, go with him and pick off their leaders. Road Hog, you go left around that bus and draw their attention. Mercy stick with him. Reaper, you can teleport, right?'

Reaper nodded, but said nothing.

'Go straight across to that far balcony, behind the statue, and start picking off their long range defenders. I'll go right around the bus on foot, with McCree. We'll catch them in a cross fire and gather at the statue.'

Tracer looked confused. 'What about me?'

Soldier 76 shook his head. 'You stay behind. We need someone to watch Hanzo – he's dangerous. And besides, in your state, you would only be a liability. The seven of us will have to do for this mission.'

Tracer looked ready to argue, but decided against it. She knew Soldier 76 was right, it was just hard to admit.

'Ok,' 76 looked at his assembled team. 'Let's do it.'

Road Hog threw himself against the large doors of the cathedral and it popped open, hinges shattering, wooden slats splintering. There was quite a crowd of enemies gathered outside – more than Soldier 76 had anticipated. For a moment he thought he might not be able to pull this off after all. Then the grenades dropped down from above, and everything was thrown into glorious chaos.

The enemies, a mixture of heavily-armed, bedraggled men and women, scattered as the grenades fell, explosions rocking the cobblestones. A few shots flew in the direction of the Soldier 76 and the others, but Road Hog caught them with his bulk, and Mercy immediately healed his flesh. They pushed outwards from the doorway.

Road Hog fired his hook, and caught a woman with a shotgun. She was torn through the air towards him, and he took her out with a single shot from the scrap gun, then tossed the woman's body away. The obese warrior took a few more shots with his improvised gun, shrapnel spraying in all directions, causing the remaining defenders to fall back.

Meanwhile Soldier 76 and McCree worked as if the whole thing was choreographed. They made their way to the right of the bus in concert, moving side by side around each other as if playing some demented game of leapfrog. Soldier 76 sprayed a line of bullets and a line of enemies dropped dead in showers of blood. McCree had his six-shooter at arm's length and was pulling the trigger with deft precision, taking out one after another after another. There was a gathering at the stairs to a building on their right. McCree threw a flashbang grenade and Soldier 76 fired a helix rocket. Half a dozen enemies were decimated in an instant.

McCree pushed forward to the front of the bus. He poked his head around, then gestured for Soldier 76 to come closer.

'There's a lot of bad guys hiding through those walls,' he drawled. 'Road Hog's on the other side of the bus with Mercy, but he can't get a clear shot.'

Soldier 76 nodded. He looked at the building to their right. It was large, at least two-stories high. If he was lucky, perhaps it would have some sort of balcony from which he could get a clearer look…

'Stay here, provide some cover.' He instructed. 'I'm going to try and flank.'

He entered the building and found a few more enemies huddled around some computer equipment. A few quick shots took care of them. He felt bad about shooting these men and women. What if they had not meant to kill him? What if they were the last free remnants of humanity?

No. They were criminals, scum. This was a community of the worst of the worst. They had gathered outside the cathedral with only one goal – to see the intruders killed.

Soldier sprinted up the stairs, taking them three at a time. One of the criminals fell down on him, a knife in hand. 76 dodged the first slash by pushing himself to the left, against the wall, then threw a punch hard enough to kick the criminal toppling down the stairs. He continued upwards.

On the second floor were more enemies, which he quickly took out. It didn't take him long before he found a balcony to his right, overlooking the courtyard with the statue. It was a statue of an Omnic – an Omnic that Soldier 76 recognised from before the Fallout.

Mondatta.

He did not know much about Mondatta, but he knew that the Omnic had aimed for peace. There was a sense of irony in the Omnic's position here, in King's Row, where he watched peacefully over a violent display such as this.

Soldier 76 looked down. From here he had a clear view of the enemies behind the wall – the same ones which were successfully stopping Road Hog from getting through. As he watched some grenades fell, scattering the enemies. The loud crack of a sniper rifle rang out, and two men fell, a bullet had passed straight through both of their heads. At least he knew Widowmaker and Junkrat were still doing their best.

76 looked up again, and saw Reaper, standing on a rooftop on the opposite side of the courtyard. The spirit of death was walking through a dozen enemies, men and women, felling one with each shot. The Hellfire pistols blazed with light, their hunger sated as the souls of the departed filled the air like musk.

76 shivered. He did not like that Reaper. He would kill him if he had to. In fact, he would do it just for the pleasure, as soon as he got the opportunity.

But for now, it was time to focus. Soldier 76 turned his gun on the enemies behind the wall. They still hadn't noticed him. It was all too easy to pick them off with his pulse rifle from above – like shooting clay pigeons that had not even been thrown into the air yet. In a matter of seconds he cleared the area, allowing Road Hog, Mercy, and McCree to step through. Widowmaker and Junkrat followed up behind, having now abandoned their positions in the upper window of the cathedral. Soldier 76 leapt down, his genetically strengthened legs absorbing the impact, and went to stand by his friends. He arrived at almost the exact same time as Reaper, who had flown over in his smoky wraith form.

Widowmaker looked exhilarated.

'Well, that was glorious,' she beamed. 'And this is only our first checkpoint. We may need to fight our way all the way to the other end of King's Row before we find Sombra.'

'If she's even here.' Mumbled Mercy, who did not seem to be enjoying this plan. Although the humans were criminals, they were still humans, of which there were very few left in the world. As if that weren't bad enough, every person they killed would soon rise again. The hungry dead would inhabit King's Row, and all would be lost for the community that had made it their home.

Soldier 76 tried not to think about that. He was merely following orders.

Widowmaker, meanwhile, pretended not to hear what Mercy had said. 'There must be, what, thirty dead? Forty?'

'Thirty six.' Reaper's voice echoed in their minds, and no one questioned the number. When it came to death, Reaper was the expert.

Widowmaker smiled. 'Thirty six. Terrific. I think my work here is done.'

'You didn't even do anything.' McCree looked unimpressed with the sniper.

Widowmaker's spidery grin only grew wider. 'You're welcome.'


	37. Chapter 37

It took some time for Hana, Genji and Ana to reach the Himalayas. It was quicker than Hana expected, as they were able to commandeer and reboot some abandoned hover cars. The benefit of these was that they could travel at tremendous speeds on auto-pilot, and expertly navigated the debris left behind by the Fallout. Every now and then Hana saw clumps of meandering dead, or rattling Omnics, but even if they were spotted there was no way for the enemies to keep pace. Every sight, every building, every collapsed city and stretch of abandoned Chinese plains, all were passed and left behind.

And then there were mountains. These were no ordinary mountains, no hills they had seen in the distance. These were real mountains, Himalayan mountains, taller than comprehension. It was cold here, too. Snow fell heavily on top of the mountains, but there was plenty of it below as well.

Ana noticed the look on Hana's face. 'It's going to get chilly.' She said. 'I hope that MEKA suit has thermal heating.'

Hana pursed her lips. It was not built for these kinds of climates. She knew it could withstand very cold temperatures, but her idea of very cold and the Himalaya's idea of very cold might be different. Genji, of course, was not shivering at all. He had wrapped a scarf around his head, but even that was unnecessary, and seemed to be more out of habit than need.

'You're sure he's up there?' Genji asked.

Ana nodded. 'He's still not speaking to you?'

'Not yet. I think this is a test. I have to find him on my own.'

'You are not on your own.' Ana replied. 'I will show you the way.'

'And I will help.' Hana said. She wasn't sure exactly how she would help yet, but it seemed likely that they would need her before the trip was done. According to Ana they still had some distance to travel through the mountains before they reached the monastery.

'This path,' Ana said, pointing to a trail of dirt that tapered off beneath their feet, 'will lead us to the monastery. It is an ancient path.'

'They should have upgraded it sometime in the last thousand years.' Hana muttered, trying with difficulty to distinguish between the trail and the dirt.

'I'm sure it wasn't necessary,' Ana replied. 'Not many people go to the monastery.'

'Maybe they would if they upgraded the road.'

Ana cleared her throat, ignored the interruption, and forged on. 'The path is winding and often hard to follow. I know the general way, but we will have to be careful for rogue Omnics, or undead, or other dangers.'

'Like what?' Genji asked.

'Like falling boulders, or hidden traps.' Ana peered ahead with her one good eye. Then, without saying anything further, began to walk.

Genji and Hana followed behind. Hana was not in her MEKA suit, as the terrain was difficult enough to follow on two feet, let alone the clunky metal legs of the MEKA. She left it at the base of the mountain. The wrist remote she had would call the MEKA to her if she needed it.

Ana led the way, pulling her heavy coat tight around her shoulders as the air grey chilly. Genji walked behind, back straight, unbothered by the temperature. The katana of his forefathers gleamed on the strap tied across his shoulders. Hana wasn't bothered by the cool air – yet. Her skin-tight insulated suit which protected her from the heat of the MEKA was also more than capable of warding off the cold. But she suspected it would not last.

The first Omnic they came across was harmless. It had clearly once been infected with the virus, but was now little more than scrap metal. It bumped its head against a rock again, again, again, stuck in a repetitive, futile action. Hana thought it looked a little as though the Omnic had lagged out of life itself. Genji cut it down with a single swipe, which seemed like a wasted effort. But when Hana saw the look on his face, she understood. Genji was one of them now. If there was any chance that one of these Omnics might have an artificial consciousness trapped in a broken body, it was a kindness to let them pass on.

They said nothing, and kept walking.

The second Omnic they spotted was standing at the top of a mountain ridge ahead of them, holding a gun. When it saw them it began to spray wildly and scream. This was one of the _scary_ Omnics, as Hana had used to call them; a robot in the shape of a man. She was about to call her MEKA when Ana quietly took aim with her rifle, fired, and took the Omnic's head off. It was a peaceful, smooth, practised movement.

They said nothing, and kept walking.

After a few hours on the trail Hana was almost too tired to stop walking. Her legs had found a steady rhythm and her muscles burned. The sun was getting low in the sky and she couldn't help but wonder if flying the MEKA would have been easier. But it was a decision she would have to deal with now.

'How are you feeling?' Ana asked. For the first time Hana noticed how old the sniper was – far too old to be taking this mountain hike so easily. Hana straightened herself and tried to look less fatigued than she really was.

'I'm fine.'

And, really, she was ok. After all, Hana might be young but she'd been through more military training than many adults, both in Korea and then in Japan. She had not been chosen for the MEKA program for nothing. She was not considered a deadly weapon for no reason.

'Well, if you need anything, let me know.' Ana sounded surprisingly caring, for someone who had not hesitated to use a sleeping dart on Hana only a few days ago.

'I do have one question.' Hana said. 'This trail is awful. I've lost sight of it many times, and I have two eyes. How do you know the way so confidently?'

'I've been here before.' Ana looked up, as if staring into the eye at the peak of the mountain, but Hana suspected the old woman was remembering something. 'When I fought for Overwatch we were tasked to come here, once. It was a very brief meeting, but I remember some of…'

They were interrupted by the third Omnic they spotted on the trail. The third Omnic was accompanied by the fourth, fifth, and several dozen more. They were rushing down the trail in a messy stampede, an avalanche of scrap metal and violence, and they were only seconds away.

'Call your MEKA!' Genji shouted, flinging a shuriken which took down the first of the Omnics.

Hana already had. She pulled her pistol from her waist and started firing up at the wave. It was impossible to miss. Ana was now on one knee, her rifle in hands. The old woman took one shot, deliberate, then another, then one more. And that was all they had time for.

Genji had drawn the katana and was standing in front. His enhanced strength and quick reflexes allowed him to use it more effectively than he ever had before – or at least more effectively than Hana had ever seen before. He slashed left, and two of the robots collapsed in a dismantled heap. He slashed right, and took down two more. Then he darted ahead, cutting a swathe through the oncoming tide. They washed over him, around, carried on by their own momentum.

Hana screamed. She had never faced enemies like this before – not real enemies, at least. Real Omnics, willing to shoot her, cut her, tear her limb from limb. And she was exposed, naked without her MEKA. Alone.

She kept firing, of course, but it was useless. Within an instant they were upon her. She felt the first slash on her arm, then another on her stomach, then she took a blow to the head and collapsed backwards. She was not unconscious, though she wished she was. The Omnics hurried past, stepping past her, on her, all over her, treading her down into the dirt, trampling her…

For a brief moment it seemed like Hana would die like that, staring at the feet of the Omnic army, barely able to catch a glimpse of the sky through the forest of their bodies...

Then there was a brilliant flash and, for a moment, Hana didn't know what was happening. Then she felt it – a surge of energy as tangible as the MEKA suit she wore. Hana stood up. There were Omnics all around, but suddenly they didn't seem so bad. She looked at her arm, noticed the skin and flesh stitching itself back together. Her vision cleared, her muscles tensed for action, her head cleared.

Ana was by her side. She was holding some sort of grenade, but it was far from normal. 'This will help,' the old woman said. Then, by way of explanation, 'A biotic grenade. I made it myself.'

'Thanks!'

Hana raised her pistol, took down the two enemies nearest, and then looked up ahead. Ana must have cleared a lot of the enemies, but there were still plenty more swarming all over Genji. She looked back at the old warrior, stared into her one good eye. The Suit would take another few minutes to reach their destination – it was quick, but not that quick. It seemed Ana was their only hope.

'Do you have anything else that might help?' she asked.

Ana nodded seriously, held out an unlabelled dart, and jabbed it into Hana's arm before she could say anything.

'Normally,' Ana began, 'I would use this on someone… bigger. But I can't get to Genji through all that mess, so it's up to you.'

Hana could already feel it rushing through her veins. Being healed by the biotic grenade had been good, but it was nowhere near as good as this. She felt strong, powerful, ten feet tall. She felt invincible.

A few Omnics peeled off from the main group. Hana didn't even bother with her gun this time. She swept the back of her hand across and knocked the heads of two machines clean off. The third lunged, but she kicked it down with her boot like a fireman.

Ana gestured towards the main fight. 'Hana, go! You're powered up! Get in there!'

Hana ran.

The Omnics were everywhere, and Genji was trapped somewhere in the middle, but she tore through them like a charging rhinoceros, sweeping the robots off their feet with her arms, legs, and then finishing them off with the gun. Even her trigger finger felt empowered. She seemed to be spraying twice as quickly as she normally did. Her enemies waded through the air as if in slow motion, jabbing at her with jagged edges, swiping at her with blades, shooting in her general direction. But by the time their attacks had fallen she was already in a different position, tossing the Omnics away with fury.

She picked one up by the shoulders and tossed it into the mountain side where it was impaled on a sharp rock. Then she turned, ducked, and punched upwards. Her uppercut took an Omnic by surprise and it fell backwards. She grabbed its legs, stood, and swung the machine around and around, eliminating three more Omnics in the process. Pieces of detached robot flew like debris from the destruction of Hana. She picked up a discarded Omnic head and pegged it at a fleeing machine, causing it to crumble.

And that was all.

Genji was covered in scratches, which unfortunately Ana did not have a cure for, but was otherwise ok. He had been pinned down by so many Omnics he could not swing his sword, but they had not managed to hurt him. As the power up wore off, Hana took several deep breaths, and looked back at Ana.

'Thank you. That was… amazing.'

'Don't get used to it,' the old woman replied gravely. 'I don't have many of those left.'

'What was it?'

'I call it a nano-boost. Stolen technology I have adapted to my own needs. The biotic grenade is similar. The nano-bots are tricky to program, but if you have the technology to do so they can be used quite effectively.'

Hana wanted to ask more, but Genji interrupted her by putting an arm over her shoulder and turning her around. She looked up, about to tell him not to manhandle her, when she saw what he was looking at.

Standing on the top of the nearby precipice was an Omnic in monk-like robes, hands clasped in front of him. Though his expression was blankly unreadable, as were most of the Omnics, the nine lights on his forehead glowed a friendly pale blue. He nodded with respect toward them, and then held out a hand in welcome.

'My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta,' the Omnic said. 'I have called you here because your souls, like mine, are linked. We are the heroes that will restore civilisation. And Genji, you must embrace your destiny if you are to call upon the spirits of your ancestors. Now please, follow me. Around this corner is the Shambali Monastery, formerly the home of Mondatta. And we have much to discuss.'

The Omnic turned and led the way. Genji and Ana followed. Hana turned in time to see her MEKA suit flying in through the mountains, directed by the GPS on her wrist.

Just in time.


	38. Chapter 38

Tracer was getting bored. Sitting in the _Mantis,_ waiting for the others return, was bad enough. She felt pushed to the side, ignored, unwanted. But to make matters worse she was having to babysit. Hanzo Shimada, son of the general, heir of the Dragon, the oh-so-important hostage they had captured in Japan…

And for what? She didn't understand his value. Perhaps there was some ulterior motive that only Widowmaker knew about, but as far as Tracer could see he was useless. They had gone to Japan to try and rescue Genji. How had they managed to bring back his brother instead?

She'd already taken off his gag. If she was to sit alone here she would be doing it with company. Boredom was one thing. Silence was another.

'You knew my brother.' Hanzo said.

Tracer was playing with her guns, twisting them over and around her fingers, pretending she was ready for action when in fact she was more ready for a nap.

'Very well. Probably better than you.'

Hanzo shrugged as well as he could with hands tied. 'Probably.'

He had not made any pleas or bargains. Nor had he attacked her verbally, made threats, or tried to escape. In fact if one thing could be said about Hanzo it was that he faced his current situation with dignity and honour. In a way she had expected no less. And yet, in another way, Genji had been so different. Where had these brothers parted ways? At what point in their lives had they chosen such different paths, become such different men?

'Do you know what your comrades plan to do with me?' Hanzo asked.

'No.' She figured honesty was the best policy. Hanzo was not her enemy, specifically. He just happened to be the enemy of someone she was currently working with. Although she did not like him either. His family drama with Genji might have been personal, but last time Tracer had seen him Hanzo had been beating Genji to a pulp.

'Then I suppose I shall just wait my fate.' Hanzo bowed his head. He was either meditating or praying, it was hard to tell which. Tracer watched him absently.

She explored the _Mantis._ It was a nice ship, with a few pokey rooms. The cockpit had over a dozen glowing screens, each depicting various parts of the ship either through cameras of analysis relays. The main space had a few tables and chairs, as well as a basketball hoop which had been hung up over the first aid kits. She amused herself by throwing a few hoops, and cheered when she got it in.

At some point Hanzo must have stopped praying. He was watching her with something like amusement.

'You are having fun?'

'Not really. This is pretty fuckin' boring.'

The archer cocked his head to one side. 'You're English, aren't you?'

Initially Tracer had tried to hide her accent. She had also tried to hide her name. Genji had done the same. They had not known if they would find enemies or spies in the USA, but it was worth the precaution, or so they had thought at the time. Now it hardly mattered.

'Sure am. Name's Tracer. We're in England now, actually.'

This, finally, warranted a reaction from the Japanese warrior. 'We're in _England?_ Why!'

At this convenient time Tracer flickered in the air and reappeared where she had been standing several moments ago. Hanzo's eyes widened even further as he followed her movements through the air. She started to respond, then it happened again, and she dashed forward again.

'What is that?' Hanzo asked.

'Something happened to me when I was brought back to life… It's like I'm living on borrowed time, and the universe hasn't quite managed to rectify the problem yet. I don't understand why, so don't ask me. All I know is that other people have been brought back to life as well, and they haven't faced these problems.'

'But…' Hanzo didn't know what to say. 'But _what is that_?'

'Well, it seems I can jump back and forth in time. Sometimes I can control it, but usually not. That's why we're in England. We're looking for someone who can help us find someone who can help.'

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. 'Sounds convoluted.'

'It is, a bit. But I think the others are…'

Tracer never finished her sentence. The side of the _Mantis_ shook as something bumped against it – something that was either very big, very heavy, or very angry. She exchanged a glance with Hanzo, who shrugged unhelpfully, then moved to the window to look outside…

There were dead rising. Dozens of them. Men and women, all armed and dangerous. They must have been left behind by the others when they attacked King's Row. Tracer felt her pace quicken. This was not good. They would surround the _Mantis_ and tear it apart unless she could stop them, but she could hardly do all that alone.

'Fuck!' She swore loudly. She hated the way the dead never stayed dead anymore. Ever since the Fallout something had happened. Something bad. The barriers between life and death and time were not as strong as they should have been, and sometimes it seemed like she was the only one dealing with the consequences.

'What is it?' Hanzo asked.

'Dead. Lots of them.'

Hanzo frowned. 'New dead? Don't tell me Widowmaker and her team just left them lying around! In Japan we have spaces for the people who are about to die, so that we can quarantine them and…'

'Shut up!' Tracer screamed at him. There was no time to discuss proper ways of dealing with corpses. She needed to find a solution, and fast.

She opened the main door of the ship and stepped outside. The first few dead were already within reaching distance. She sprayed with her pulse pistols, dropping the closest ones to her, then leapt forward and killed two more. One of the dead raised his gun and started firing in her direction. It was pure luck that she flickered backwards in time and avoided the bullets. The dead adapted his aim and Tracer was forced to find cover behind the wing of the _Mantis._

The dead rarely used weapons. They lacked the coordination to pull it off effectively. Maybe they knew that, maybe not, but the fact was most didn't even try, with the exception of a few simple weapons like clubs or axes. But guns was very rare. She wasn't worried, exactly. She doubted she would be hit at this distance. But the dead were getting closer, and without someone to watch her back it would make it very difficult to fight off the horde. What she needed was someone like Widowmaker to pick off the targets at a distance, thin out the crowd…

She turned back to the _Mantis._ Damn it. This was not what she wanted, but she was lacking much of a choice. She _had_ someone like Widowmaker. She needed to make use of him. He might escape afterwards – she doubted she had the strength to stop him – but the fact was she didn't really care. He was Widowmaker's prisoner, not hers. She hated him for what he'd done to Genji, but that would have to wait.

She darted back into the ship where Hanzo was sitting, still tied up, now looking a little more anxious.

'I didn't hear much shooting. Have you killed them all, again?'

'Not exactly. There's too many for me to fight alone. I don't want to do this, but…' She leaned over and untied him in a few swift movements. He retrieved his bow and quiver from a locker on the wall and tested the string.

'Perfect.' He said. 'Let's go.'

As it was, she soon realised she had left it too late. The dead were surrounding the _Mantis._ She darted out, killed a few, and darted back inside. Hanzo picked off the one with the gun. But another of them picked it up, then a few more of them started collecting abandoned weapons from the floor. They were truly trapped inside the cathedral now. Trapped inside the _Mantis,_ really.

'I'm going out again.' Tracer told her companion. 'Cover me.'

Hanzo fired again, and again. The dead fell. But those that did not take shots to the head often stood back up again and closed in.

Tracer flickered forward through time, then again. She drew them away from the _Mantis,_ creating some space, then danced around the shambling undead, her pulse pistols firing constantly. A few fell, a few more closed in. She felt one lash at her arm – he tore through skin and muscle. Blood splattered upwards, outwards, spraying horrifically…

She flickered backwards. Time reverted, and to her surprise the wound on her arm healed as well. She had not expected that to happen. Perhaps this unpredictable curse was more helpful than she had first realised.

'They're all around us!' Hanzo called. 'Stand back!'

He picked an arrow from his quiver, this time one with a different coloured tip. He pulled the bowstring back and fired it into the mass of enemies. It split apart as it hit the ground, throwing fragments in all directions, taking half a dozen of the undead down in a single blow.

It wasn't enough. There were still more, and they were already on the ramp of the _Mantis._ They would soon be inside. There was nowhere left to run.

'Shut the door!' Hanzo called.

Tracer had thought of that, but the door did not respond to her command. She'd thought of trying to fly the ship out of the cathedral to safety, but that wasn't working either. Whether the _Mantis_ required a key or a password she didn't know, but it didn't matter. She had neither.

'I can't!' She took a few steps back, firing as she moved. But the heavy press of bodies was too thick, too heavy. The dead she killed again were pushed forward like shields and behind them came a wave of closely advancing zombies. Hanzo was firing as fast as he could but his arrows seemed to be doing little but making pincushions of his foes.

'Then we are in grave trouble.' Hanzo was also stepping backwards now. The undead were filling the _Mantis_ , pressing up towards the cockpit. Tracer emptied yet another clip into their mass, and took the head off one of the enemies.

She needed time, just a few seconds to think. There must be another way out of this death trap, she just couldn't _see it_ yet. A few seconds distraction would be…

The fire extinguisher hanging by the door glinted red. She took aim and fired. The rapid expelling air whooshed from the small container and it was thrown upwards into the air, knocking first one, then two undead in the skull. A cloud of the smoky product filled the main cabin of the ship and the zombie-figures slowed their advance, confused and disorientated.

It had given Tracer the moment she needed.

She turned back to the cockpit. She couldn't use the ship itself, but there must be something, some kind of weapon. If not, this was the last minute she would spend on earth.

Hanzo turned to her as he fired his last arrow. 'I'm sorry, Tracer. It was an honour fighting with you.'

Tracer didn't even look at him. She was rummaging through every drawer and compartment she could find in the cockpit. A gun that Soldier 76 had left behind, or an explosive belonging to Junkrat, if there was anything at all that she could…

As soon as she spotted it she did not wait to tell Hanzo what she'd found. She simply picked it up, turned back to the undead, and called out to them.

'Looks like you need a time out!' She wasn't sure why that phrase came to mind, except of course that there was a play on the theme of time. The item gripped hard in her hand she prepared to dash forward through time, and crossed her fingers – hopefully this time it worked properly.

She flickered forwards once, right into the midst of the undead, then again, beyond them, outside the _Mantis_ and into the main cathedral. Then once more time. Three forward dashes. She had just cleared the back of the pack of undead and now stood behind them, waving, drawing them out into the open.

They had taken the bait exactly as planned, not even staying to finish off Hanzo. They piled out of the _Mantis_ in seconds, a huge throng of them gathering, reaching for her…

She tossed the pulse bomb into their midst and saw it stick itself to one of the walking dead. They stopped to look at it. She grinned. The odds of finding one of those in the _Mantis_ had been slim, and yet Widowmaker was a soldier. Pulse bombs weren't used very often anymore, but only a few years ago they had been standard issue.

She flickered back in time, appearing where she had been standing only a few seconds ago, right beside Hanzo. He was a little pale, and very confused.

'What was that?' He asked.

'Bombs away.' She winked.

The _Mantis_ shivered as the force of the blast rocked it, just a little, the gentle caress of a powerful bomb. Tracer did double check that the dead were all dead, but she hadn't needed to. That particular explosive was more than enough to clear the area.

She wondered if there were any more of them stashed aboard the ship…


	39. Chapter 39

There was a lot to think about. Road-Hog wasn't a big fan of thinking. It took a lot of time away from his primary hobby – shooting. So although he had Mercy healing him, and Reaper flanking him, and Widowmaker covering him, and Junkrat watching his back, he did his best not to think about allegiances, and simply to fight, and shoot, and win.

He was in his element.

There were a lot of defenders in King's Row. Whether or not they worked for this so-called _Sombra_ he did not know. But so long as they were trying to kill him he was more than happy to try and kill them back.

It was slow going. They had passed the first "checkpoint", an easily-defended courtyard watched over by the statue of an Omnic monk, and were now pushing forwards. Widowmaker was picking off their enemies from a vantage point, while Soldier 76 and McCree were leap-frogging each other, picking off their enemies in an alternating rain of accurate bullet fire. He hardly felt needed.

But he was. He was the meat-shield, he understood that much. Mercy remained behind him, knitting together his flesh and blood and bones with her healing-staff. For every bullet that hit him another wound was repaired, restored. His bulk protected his allies. There was nothing that could bring him down.

It hurt. He did not want to say anything for fear of seeming weak, but each bullet stung, and no matter how many hit him he could not ignore the sensation that he was dying a little more each time…

'Up there!' Someone called.

He wasn't sure who had given the warning, but he saw the enemy; a local criminal preparing to throw a grenade down at them from a balcony. He lashed out with his hook and yanked the human down towards him. He caught the grenade – it had already been armed – and tossed it in the direction of their enemies. An explosion sent them reeling backwards. He tossed the person aside; they were no longer of any concern.

Junkrat appeared beside him. 'Can you believe these pommy bastards think that _Australians_ are the criminals?'

Road-Hog didn't answer. He allowed his healer to get closer, Reaper at her side.

'We can't get through.' Mercy sighed. 'There are too many.'

'We can.' Road-Hog scowled. He wasn't much of a leader, but he felt he had to be strong. Everyone else might be good at dealing damage, but he was the front-man. He was the one leading the charge, one way or another. He had to find a way.

'How?' Junkrat asked. The tall, wiry Australian was drenched in sweat, and had tossed his shirt away to reveal a set of abs, glistening with sweat but dirty from a lack of showers.

Widowmaker launched herself forwards with grappling hook, firing a single shot as she flew through the air and landing by their feet.

'Yes, Hog man, how do you suppose we get through?'

More of the enemies were appearing at every moment. Soldier 76 emptied a clip, reloaded, and emptied it almost immediately. He and McCree had stopped advancing and were now retreating. There really were too many enemies. Reaper, in desperation, tossed one of his hellfire pistols towards the throng of enemies. It hit someone's head, and he shouted, 'Ow!'

'We need to find a way around.' Road-Hog said.

It was, perhaps, the stupidest thing he'd ever said. He felt stupid even saying it. The others glared at him in annoyance, and no more than Mercy. She deserved to be the leader of the group, not him. She was respected, useful, and an immutable addition to any team. And yet she was listening to him.

'There are no ways around, King's Row is a prison, blocked off from every direction by…'

'What about underground?' Road-Hog asked.

Mercy stopped mid-sentence, and looked at Widowmaker, who looked at 76. None of them had an answer.

'Is it worth trying?' McCree asked. 'Because, ladies and gents, I think I'm runnin' low on bullets. At this point, any idea is an idea worth tryin'.'

Soldier 76 nodded. 'The cowboy has a point.'

Widowmaker turned on her infra-red scanner as they continued to retreat, turning away from corner after corner, allowing their enemies to press on.

'Road-Hog, what were you before the world ended?'

He paused at this, not sure whether or not to tell the truth. He hoisted his grappling hook over one shoulder and replied, coyly, 'Fisherman.'

Widowmaker gave a smug blue smile. 'Well, whether or not that's true, you must have been to England. How else would you know about the underground?'

Road-Hog shrugged. He must have heard about it from Tracer on the way over. She knew all about London, he knew nothing. Or perhaps it was just a lucky guess. He did not question his instinct.

Junkrat did.

'What's the underground?' the Junker asked. He still looked dazed, perhaps from the knowledge that he had lost his soul, but was at least aware enough to care about their current situation.

'According to my current scans,' Widowmaker took a shot and beheaded an enemy who was foolish enough to poke around the corner, 'there's an underground tunnel to our right. If we take it we can appear behind our enemies, a hundred meters or so beyond the enemy. It's worth a try.'

Junkrat grinned. 'You're damn fuckin' right it is. Let me provide a distraction.'

Road-Hog watched as his long-time partner in crime leapt onto the wall and, spider-like, climbed up a series of widened cobblestones. Widowmaker used her grappling hook to join him on the roof. They looked down at their allies.

'Go, already, we'll keep them distracted.'

Road-Hog turned right. The main road fell away behind them – here was deserted. Soldier 76 and McCree took turns feeling uncomfortable.

'This is a bad idea,' 76 muttered.

'What a good place for an ambush,' McCree agreed.

Nonetheless they continued onwards, and swiftly came across the entrance to an underground subway tunnel. Soldier 76 raced ahead, his genetically engineered legs much faster than any of the others. The sound of his rapid-bursts of bullet fire reached their ears as he cleared the tunnel.

'I hope you know what you're doing,' Mercy said, softly, in Road-Hog's ear.

'I don't,' Road-Hog replied.

When they reached the next exit for the London underground they emerged like submarines to find a street already full of corpses. Widowmaker had rained bullets while Junkrat's grenades fell like explosive hail. The street was a nightmare of dead.

Road-Hog pushed past McCree and 76 and, gun blazing, led the path forward. The enemies fell beneath him in droves, afraid of the sneak-attack that had appeared behind them. McCree fanned out to the left, 76 to the right, as they made safe the street.

Within seconds the area was cleared of enemies. They stood behind a road-block, gazed ahead.

'Sombra will be down there,' Widowmaker pointed.

Road-Hog didn't know if this was a guess, or if she was using her infra-red scanner again. It didn't matter to him. As far as he was concerned if they had not found the person they were looking for yet, she must be further along. And there was no way to go further along than by following this path, right into the heart of whatever facility lay ahead.

'You're saying we need to keep going?' McCree asked, astounded.

Road-Hog agreed with McCree's line of thinking. They had done well to get this far, as out-numbered as they were. It was time to call a truce, time to look for Tracer, time to find another way.

'Yes, we have to keep going.' Widowmaker reloaded her sniper rifle. She was looking more alive with every passing moment – nothing like the deathly blue corpse they had seen so many weeks ago. She was a warrior, a spy, an accomplished killer.

A fearsome enemy.

'Very well.' Mercy nodded. 'We can keep going, but…'

'Truce!'

The voice was not one they recognised. They looked up. A tall black man with a club over one shoulder and a shotgun over the other was approaching. He smiled, white teeth shining.

'My name is Omar,' he said, 'and I have a message from Sombra.'

Road-Hog seriously considered hooking the man and shooting him, but decided against it. The man was clearly not here to fight. He was even holding his shotgun in the air, as if to surrender.

'How do you know Sombra?' Widowmaker called.

Omar was still grinning. 'She is Queen of King's Row!'

Widowmaker rolled her eyes for the benefit of her team. Mercy pursed her lips.

'What does she want?'

'She wants to welcome her old friend Amélie to her base of operations, and to discuss with her the current state of the world. She would also like Agent Widowmaker's friends to lay down their weapons and come quietly.' Omar touched his ear. Road-Hog was fairly sure there was a listening device there – perhaps this Omar man was being given his script line-by-line. 'Sombra also deeply apologises for the violence that has already ensued, and promises that there will be no more of the sort.'

At this, Widowmaker laughed out loud. Her allies looked at her with looks of grim mistrust. Road-Hog liked Widowmaker – their mission together had been enjoyable – but even he was beginning to wonder if she was a good ally. She seemed to have too many secret agendas of her own.

The blue-skinned agent called out to Omar.

'We agree to come and talk to Sombra, but we do not agree to give up our weapons. Tell her it would be unprofessional, especially in these trying times.'

There was a long pause as Omar listened to whatever instructions were being relayed via his ear piece. Road-Hog knew better than to question what his allies were saying; he felt too far out of his depth. So much had happened since he'd stumbled across Reaper and Mercy and Tracy and Mike in Route 66. Nonetheless, he wanted to ask questions, wanted to find out how Widowmaker and Sombra knew each other, how Mercy was capable of healing wounded bodies in seconds.

He said nothing. He listened. He waited with the others for Omar's response.

Finally the dark-skinned man grinned and nodded.

'Sombra agrees to your conditions. Welcome to the heart of King's Row, the Meridian. Welcome to the castle from which Sombra rules this land.' He extended a hand in a show of trust. 'Welcome… to the future.'


End file.
